The Gerrard street mystery and other weird tales [microform]

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6 GERRARD STREET MYSTERY
WEIRD TALES.

bY

JOHN CLLARLES DENT.

TORONTO;
ROSE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
1838,

mS Ae sabooi SNF

Entered according to the Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year one
thousand eight hundred and eighty-eight, by HunTEr, Roskz & Co., at
the Department of Agriculture.

spi

Pim Ne tS

sUiicr te ees

as

PREFATORY SKETCH.

4 (OHN CHARLES DENT, the author of the
following remarkable stories, was born in
Kendal, Westmoreland, England, in 1841.
His parents emigrated to Canada shortly
after that event, bringing with them, of
course, the youth who was afterwards to
become the Canadian author and historian.
Mr. Dent received his primary education
in Canadian schools, and afterwards stud-
ied law, becoming in due course a member of the Upper
Canada Bar. He only practised for a few years. He
found the profession profitable enough but uncongenial
—as it could not well help being in an obscure Canad-
ian village, twenty years ago—and very probably he was
already cherishing ambitious dreams cf literary labors,
which he was eager to begin in the world’s literary cen-
tre, London. He accordingly relinquished his practice
as soon as he felt himself ina position to do so, and went

iV Prefatory Sketch.

to England. He had not miscalculated his powers, as too
many do under like circumstances. Hlesoon found remu-
nerative literary work, and as he became better known,
was engaged to write for several high-class periodicals,
notably, Once a Week, for which he contributed a series
of articles on interesting topics. But in England Mr.
Dent produced no very long or xmbitious work. Perhaps
he found that the requisite time for such an undertaking
could not be spared. At this period he had a wife and
family depending on him for support, and it speaks well
for his abilities, that he was able to amply provide for
them out of the profits solely derived from his literary
labours. But of course to do this he had to devote him-
self to work that could be thrown off readily, and which
could be as readily sold.

After remaining in England for several years, Mr. Dent
and his family returned to America. He obtained a po-
sition in Boston, which he held for about two years. But
he finally relinquished it and came to Toronto, having
accepted a position on the editorial staff of the Telegram,
which was then just starting. For several years Mr.
Dent devoted himself to journalistic labours on various
newspapers, but principally the Zoronto Weekly Globe.
To that journal he contributed a very notable series
of biographical sketches on “ Eminent Canadians.”
Shortly after the death of the Hon. George Brown, Mr,
Dent severed his connection with the Globe, and imme-
diately thereafter commenced his first ambitious under-
taking, Zhe Canadian Portrait Gallery, which ran to

SG aa ge

is too
emu-
10WN,
licals,
series
1 Mr.
rhaps
uking
» and
well
le for
erary
him-
whieh

Dent
a po-
But
AVINg
ram,
Mr.

rious

lobe.
eries
”
ans.
Mr,
me-
ider-
n to

Li giae. Be

Prefatory Sketch. v

four large volumes. It proved to be a most creditable
and successful achievement Of course in a brief sketch
no detailed criticism of either this or the succeeding
works can be attempted. Suffice it to say that the bio-
eraphies of Canadian public men, living and dead, were
carefully prepared, and written from an un-partisan stand-
point. In this book there was no padding; every indi-
vidual admitted had achieved something of national
value, and the biographies are, therefore, of importance to
the student of Canadian history. This book deserved
and attained a considerable circulation, and brought to
its author a comparatively large sum of money.

Mr. Dent’s second book was ‘‘ The Last Forty Years:
Canada since the Union of 1841.” This work has been
highly praised in all quarters, and is in every way a credit
to its author’s really brilliant powers as a literary artist.

The third work was a “History of the Rebellion in
Upper Canada.” Although written in his best manner,
with the greatest possible care, from authentic sources of
information not hitherto accessible, this work has had the
misfortune to meet with undeservedly severe criticism.
When Mr. Dent began his studies for the book he held Wil-
liam Lyon Mackenzie in high esteem, but he found it
necessary afterwards to change his opinion. He was able
to throw a flood of new light on the characters of the
men who took part in the struggle, and if the facts tended

to darken the fair fame of some of them, the historian
certainly ought not to be censured for it. The tendency
of the book was decidedly in opposition to the ideas en-

vi Prefatory Sketch.

tertained to this day by the partizans of the “Old Fam-
ily Compact” on the one side, and also to the friends
and adimirers of Williain Lyon Mackenzie on the other.
But the severe criticism the work sustained, has left it
stronger than before, and it will stand undoubtedly as by
far the best history of the “ Rebellion” that has appeared.

In addition to these important works on which his
reputation as a writer will rest, Mr. Dent has written
from time to time a great many sketches, essays and
stories, some of which are exceedingly interesting and
worthy of being preserved. All of Mr. Dent’s work con-
tains a charm of its own. In writing history, he was in
accord with Macaulay. He always believed that a true
story should be told as agreeably as a fictitious one ; “that
the incidents of real life, whether political or domestie,
admit of being so arranged as, without detriment to ac-
curacy, to command all the interest of an artificial series
of facts; that the chain of circumstances which constitute
history may be as finely and gracefully woven as any tale of
fancy.” Acting upon this theory, he has made Canadian
history very interesting reading. He is to my mind the
only historian, beside Mr. Parkman, who has been able
to make Canadian events so dry in detail, fascinating
throughout.

In private life, Mr. Dent was a most estimable man.
He possessed qualities of mind and heat, having their
visible outcome in a courteous, genial manner that en-
deared him very closely to his friends. With all his wealth
of learning, which was very great, he was light-hearted,

is

Gch reid Yaya vanl conc ease INAS Fie)

Yd Fam-
' friends
1e other,
s left it
lly as by
ppeared.
hich his
written
ays and
‘ing and
ork con-
2 was in
it a true
>; “that
omestie,
it to ac-
il series
nstitute
y tale of
anadian
ind the
en able
sInating

le man.
1g¢ their
that en-
-wealth
vearted,

rere | ae eae

Prefatory Sketch, vi

witty and companionable, and his early death leaves a gap
not very easily closed.

The four stories composing the present volume were
contributed by their author at considerable intervals to
different periodicals. Some time prior to his death he
contemplated publishing them in book form, and actually
selected and carefully revised them with that purpose in
view. He thought they were worthy of being rescued
from obscurity, and if we compare them with much of a
similar class of work constantly issuing from the press,
we cannot think that his judgment erred. They are
now published in accordance with his wish, to take their
chances in the great world of literature.

kh. W. D.

Toronto, Oct. 25th, 1888.

CONTENTS.

THE GERRARD STREET MYSTERY .

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PAGE

81

113

Ree ae

THE

GERRARD STREET MYSTERY.

ee I,

ay Y name is William Francis Furlong.
My occupation is that of a commission
merchant, and my place of business is
on St. Paul Street, in the City ot
Montreal. I have resided in Montreal
ever since shortly after my marriage,
in 1862, to my cousin, Alice Playter,
of Toronto. My name may not be
familiar to the present generation

: promt ode

.
4 a

of Torontonians, though I was born in Toronto, and
passed the early years of my life there. Since the
days of my youth my visits to the Upper Province
have been few, and—with one exception—very brief;
so that I have doubtless passed out of the remem-
brance of many persons with whom I[ was once on

on ee a me

18 The Gerrard Street Mystery.

terms of intimacy. Still, there are several residents of
Toronto whom I am happy to number among my warm-
est personal friends at the present day. There are also
a good many persons of middle age, not in Toronto only,
but scattered here and there throughout various parts of
Ontario, who will have no difficulty in recalling my name
as that of one of their fellow-students at Upper Canada
College. The name of my late uncle, Richard Yarding-
ton, is of course well known to all old residents of
Toronto, where he spent the last thirty-two years of his
life. He settled there in the year 1829, when the place
was still known as Little York. He opened a small store
on Yonge Street, and his commercial career was a reason-
ably prosperous one. By steady degrees the small store
developed into what, in those times, was regarded as a
considerable establishment. In the course of years the
owner acquired a competency, and in 1854 retired from
business altogether. From that time up to the day of
his death he lived in his own house on Gerrard Street.
After mature deliberation, I have resolved to give to
the Canadian public an account of some rather singular
circumstances connected with my residence in Toronto.
Though repeatedly urged to do so, I have hitherto re-
frained from giving any extended publicity to those
circumstances, in consequence of my inability to see any
good to be served thereby. The only person, however,
whose reputation can be injuriously affected by the
details has been dead for some years. He has left behind
him no one whose feelings can be shocked by the dis-
closure, and the story is in itself sufficiently remarkable
to ke worth the telling. Told, accordingly, it shall be;

mts of
warl-
re also
> only,
arts of
‘name
‘anada
wding-
nts of
; of his
e place
ll store
reason-
ll store
das a
ars the
-d from
day of
reet.
give to
ingular
oronto.
rto re-
b those
see any
owever,
by the
behind
he dis-
arkable
all be;

The Gerrard Street Mystery. 19

and the only fictitious element introduced into the
narrative shall be the name of one of the persons most
immediately concerned in it.

At the time of taking up his abode in Toronto—or
rather in Little York—my uncle Richard was a widower,
and childless; his wife having died several months
previously, His only relatives on this side of the Atlan-
tic were two maiden sisters,a few years younger than
himself. He never contracted a second matrimonial
alliance, and for some time after his arrival here his
sisters lived in his house, and were dependent upon
him for support. After the lapse of a few years
both of them married and settled down in homes
of their own. The elder of them subsequently became
my mother. She was left a widow when I was a mere
boy, and survived my father only a few months. I was
an only child, and as my parents had been in humble
circumstances, the charge of my maintenance devolved
upon my uncle, to whose kindness I am indebted for such
educational training as I have received. After sending
me to school and college for several years, he took me
into his store, and gave me my first insight into com-
mercial life. I lived with him, and both then and always
received at his hands the kindness of a father, in which
light I eventually almost came to regard him, His
younger sister, who was married to a watchmaker called
Elias Playter, lived at Quebec from the time of her mar-
riage until her death, which took place in 1846. Her
husband had been unsuccessful in business, and was
moreover of dissipated habits. He was left with one
child—a daughter—on his hands; and as my uncle was

— etree meme RD re eae

20 The Gerrard Street Mystery.

averse to the idea of his sister’s child remaining under
the control of one so unfit to provide for her welfare, he
proposed to adopt the little girlas his own. To this
proposition Mr, Elias Playter readily assented, and little
Alice was soon domiciled with her uncle and myself in
Toronto.

Brought up, as we were, under the same roof, and see-
ing each other every day of our lives, a childish attach-
ment sprang up between my cousin Alice and myself.
As the years rolled by, this attachment ripened into a
tender affection, which eventually resulted in an engage-
ment between us. Our engagement was made with the
full and cordial approval of my uncle, who did not share
the prejudice entertained by many persons against mar-
riages between cousins. He stipulated, however, that our
marriage should be deferred until I had seen somewhat
more of the world, and until we had both reached an age
when we might reasonably be presumed to know our own
minds. He was also, not unnaturally, desirous that be-
fore taking uyon myself the responsibility of marriage I
should give some evidence of my ability to provide for
a wife, and for other contingencies usually consequent
upon matrimony. He made no secret of his intention to
divide his property between Alice and myself at his death ;
and the fact that no actual division would be necessary
in the event of our marriage with each other was doubt-
less one reason for his ready acquiescence in our engage-
ment. He was, however, of a vigorous constitution, strictly
regular and methodical in all his habits, and likely to live
to an advanced age. He could hardly be called parsi-
monious, but, like most men who have suecesstully fought

pate Seay

~ under
fare, he
To this
d little

yself in

und see-
attach-
myself.
into a
engage-
vith the
ot share
ist mar-
that our
newhat
an age

bur own
hat be-
rriage I
ride for
Bequent
htion to
death ;

cessary

+ doubt-
engage-
strictly

to live

1 parsi-

r fought

e
Q
a

x

The Gerrard Street Mystery. 21

their own way through life, he was rather fond of author-
ity, and little disposed to divest himself of his wealth
until he should have no further occasion for it. He ex-
pressed his willingness to establish me in business, either
in Toronto or elsewhere, and to give me the benefit of his
experience in all mercantile transactions.

When matters had reached this pass J. had just com-
pleted my twenty-first year, my cousin being three years
younger. Since my uncle’s retirement I had engaged in
one or two little speculations on my own account, which
had turned out fairly successful, but I had not devoted
myself to any regular or fixed pursuit. Before any defi-
nite arrangements had been concluded as to the course of
my future life, a circumstance occurred which seemed to
open a way for me to turn to good account such mercan-
tile talent as I possessed. An old friend of my uncele’s
opportunely arrived in Toronto from Melbourne, Australia,
where, in the course of a few years, he had risen from the
position of a junior clerk to that of senior partner in a
prominent commercial house. He painted the land of his
adoption in glowing colours, and assured my uncle and
myself that it presented an inviting field for a young man
of energy and business capacity, more especially if he
had a small capital at his command. The matter was
carefully debated in our domestic circle. I was naturally
averse to a separation from Alice, but my imagination
took fire at Mr. Redpath’s glowing account of his own
splendid success. I pictured myself returning to Canada
after an absence of four or five years with a mountain of
gold at my command, as the result of my own energy
and acuteness, In imagination, I saw myself settled down

22 The Gerrard Street Mystery.

with Alice in a palatial mansion on Jarvis Street, and
living in affluence all the rest of my days. My uncle bade
me consult my own judgment in the matter, but rather
encouraged the idea than otherwise. He offered to ad-
vance me £500, and I had about half that sum as the re-
sult of my own speculations. Mr. Redpath, who was just
about returning to Melbourne, promised to aid me to the ex-
tent of his power with his local knowledge and advice.
Yn less than a fortnight from that time he and I were on
our way to the other side of the globe.

We reached our destination early in the month of Sep-
tember, 1857. My life in Australia has no direct bear-
ing upon the course of events to be related, and may be
passed over in a very few words. I engaged in various
enterprises, and achieved a certain measure of success,
If none of my ventures proved eminently prosperous, I at
least met with no serious disasters. At the end of four
years—that is to say, in September, 1861—I made up
my account with the world, and found I was worth ten
thousand dollars. I had, however, become terribly home-
sick, and longed for the termination of my volunta: y ex-
ile. I had, of course, kept up a regular correspondence
with Alice and Uncle Richard, and of late they had both
pressed me to return home. “ You have enough,” wrote
my uncle, “to give you a start in Toronto, and I see no
reason why Alice and you should keep apart any longer.
You will have no housekeeping expenses, for I intend
you to live with me. I am getting old, and shall be glad
of your companionship in my declining years. You will
have a comfortable home while I live, and when I die
you will get all I have between you. Write as soon as

|

et, and
ale bade
t rather
| to ad-
the re-
vas just
the ex-
advice,
vere on

of Sep-
t bear-
may be
various
success.
us, I at
of four
ade up
th ten
r home-
aly eXx-
mndence
d both
’ wrote
see no
longer.
intend
be glad
ou will
n I die
oon as

;
i”
4
;
&

The Gerrard Street Mystery. 23

you receive this, and let us know how soon you can be
here,—the sooner the better.”

The letter containing this pressing invitation found me
in a mood very much disposed to accept it. The only en-
terprise I had on hand which would be likely to delay me
was a transaction in wool, which, as I believed, would be
closed by the end of January or the beginning of Febru-
ary. By the first of March I should certainly be ina
condition to start on my homeward voyage, and I deter-
mined that my departure should take place about that
time. I wrote both to Alice and my uncle, apprising
them of my intention, and announcing my expectation to
reach Toronto not later than the middle of May.

The letters so written were posted on the 19th of Sep-
tember, in time for the mail which left on the following
day, On the 27th, to my huge surprise and gratification,
the wool transaction referred to was unexpectedly con-
cluded, and I was at liberty, if so disposed, to start for
home by the next fast mail steamer, the Southern Cross,
leaving Melbourne on the 11th of October. I was so dis-
posed, and made my preparations accordingly. It was
useless, I reflected, to write to my uncle or to Alice, ac-
quainting them with the change in my plans, for I should
take the shortest route home, and should probably be in
Toronto as soon as a letter could get there. I resolved
to telegraph from New York, upon my arrival there, so
as not to take them altogether by surprise.

The morning of the 11th of October found me on board
the Southern Cross, where I shook hands with Mr. Red-
path and several other friends who accompanied me on
hoard for a last farewell. The particulars of the voyage

Oe ee ee TEES ool

24 The Gerrard Street Mystery.

to England are not pertinent to the story, and may be the
given very briefly. I took the Red Sea route, and ar- sev
rived at Marseilles about two o'clock in the afternoon of | | me
the 29th of November. From Marseilles I travelled by » An
rail to Calais, and so impatient was I to reach my jour-

ney’s end without loss of time, that I did not even stay a we
over to behold the glories of Paris. I had a commission g esti
to execute in London, which, however, delayed me there | Sti
only a few hours, and I burried down to Liverpool, in the : Tj
hope of catching the Cunard Steamer for New York. I let
missed it by about two hours, but the Persia was de- - He
tailed to start on a special trip to Boston on the follow- sug
ing day. I secured a berth, and at eight o’clock the next sur

morning steamed out of the Mersey on my way home-

ward. toni

The voyage from Liverpool to Boston consumed four- _ Gen
teen days. All I need say about it is, that before arriv- > lett
ing at the latter port [ formed an intimate acquaintance § Pra
with one of the passengers—Mr. Junius H. Gridley, a od
Boston merchant, who was returning from 9 hurried busi- | witl
ness trip to Europe. He was—and is—a inost agreeable + aske
companion. We were thrown together a good deal dur- 7
ing the voyage, and we then laid the foundation of a . S
friendship which has ever since subsisted between us. @ ence
Before the dome of the State House loomed in sight he Wh
had extracted a promise from me to spend a night with ) ped,

Saba

stra

ia

him before pursuing my journey. We landed at the
wharf in East Boston on the evening of the 17th of De-
cember, and I accompanied him to his house on West
Newton Street, where I remained until the following
morning. Upon consulting the time-table, we found that

ce

3
; f hy

nay be
nd ar-

100n of
led by
y jour-
n stay
nission
e there
in the
irc, I
vas de-
follow-
le next
home-

1 four-
arriv-
ntance
lley, a
1 busi-
reeable
ul dur-
yn of a
en us.
rht he

with
t the
bf De-
West
wing

that

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os
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4
=
Gi
A

TARAS 5 Geloone

The Gerrard Street Mystery. 25

the Albany express would leave at 11.30 am. This left
several hours at my disposal, and we sallied forth im-
mediately after breakfast to visit some of the lions of the
American Athens.

In the course of our peregrinations through the streets,
we dropped into the post office, which had recently been
established in the Merchants’ Kxchange Building, on
State Street. Seeing the countless piles of mail-matter,
I jestingly remarked tomy friend that there seemed to be
letters enough there to go around the whole human family,
He replied in the same mood, whereupon I banteringly
suggested the probability that among so many letters,
surely there ought to be one for me.

“ Nothing more reasonable,” he replied. “ We Bos-
tonians are always bountiful to strangers. Here is the
General Delivery, and here is the department where
letters addressed to the Furlong family are kept in stock.
Pray inquire for yourself.”

The joke I confess was not a very brilliant one ; but
with a grave countenance I stepped up to the wicket and
asked the young lady in attendance :

“ Anything for W. F. Furlong ?”

She took from a pigeon-hole a handful of correspond-
ence, and proceeded to run her eye over the addresses.
When about half the pile had been exhausted she stop-
ped, and propounded the usual inquiry in the case of
strangers :

“Where do you expect letters from ?”

“From Toronto,” I replied.

To my no small astonishment she immediately handed
me a letter, bearing the Toronto post-mark, The address

Avy.)
ithe
0

26 The Gerrard Street Mystery.

ES.

eH

was in the peculiar and well-known handwriting of my

card es

uncle Richard. am

Seareely crediting the evidence of my senses I tore © my

open the envelope, and read as follows :— 2 exy
% 2

‘*Toronto, 9th December, 1861. _ tur

‘My Dear Witi1am—I am so glad to know that you are coming | © I

Baws

home so much sooner than you expected when you wrote last, and
that you will eat your Christmas dinner with us. For reasons pat!
which you will learn when you arrive, it will not be a very merry ' mar
Christmas at our house, but your presence will make it much more " case

Rs pf

fey

bearable than it would be without you. I have not told Alice that et
‘ , , / no
youare coming. Let it be a joyful surprise for her, asscmecom- ~
pensation for the sorrows she has had to endure lately. You | ber.
needn't telegraph. I will meet you at the G. W. R. station. 5 me,
‘¢ Your affectionate uncle, and
iad ~ Ty rr ”

RIcHARD YARDINGTON, ~ that
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked my friend, seeing — need

the blank look of surprise on my face. “ Of course the — grap
letter is not for you ; why on earth did you open it ?” 3
“Tt is for me,” I answered. “See here, Gridley, old — heh

man ; have you been playing mea trick ? If you have’nt, __ thin
this is the strangest thing I ever knew in my life.” _ingui
Of course he hadn’t been playing me a trick. A mo- stati
ment’s reflection showed me that such a thing was im- “Teac
possible. Here was the envelope, with the Toronto post- ’ that
mark of the 9th of December, at which time he had been ~

with me on board the Persia, on the Banks of New-
foundland. Besides, he wasa gentleman, and would not
have played so poor and stupid a joke upon a guest. And,
to put the matter beyond all possibility of doubt, I re-
membered that I had never mentioned my cousin’s name

in his hearing.

y of my

s I tore

1861.

re coming
last, and
yr reasons
ery merry
.uch more
Alice that
some com-
ely. You
tion.

NGTON.”’
1, seeing
purse the
ee
idley, old
1 have'nt,
fe.”
A mo-
was i1m-
nto post-
had been
of New-
vould not
est. And,
ibt, I re-

ns name

i man with my intentions ?
i
6

Pere et ns ne ae eer

tained in the letter, and sent no telegram.
accompanied me down to the Boston and Albany station,

The Gerrard Street Mystery. 27

I handed him the letter. He read it carefully through
twice over, and was as much mystified at its contents as
myself ; for during our passage across the Atlantic I had
_ explained to him the circumstance under which I was re-
turning home.

3y what conceivable means had my uncle been made
aware of my departure from Melbourne? Had Mr. Red-
path written to him, as soonas I acquainted that gentle-
But even if such were the
case, the letter could not have left before I did, and could
not possibly have reached Toronto by the 9th of Decem-
ber. Had I been seen in England by some one who knew
me, and had not one written from there? Most unlikely ;
and even if such a thing had happened, it was impossible
that the letter could have reached Toronto by the 9th. I
need hardly inform the reader that there was no tele-
graphic communication at that time. And how could my
uncle know that I would take the Boston route? And if

1 he had known, how could he foresee that I would do any-
__ thing so absurd as to call at the Boston post office and
“inquire for letters ?
: j station,”
-reach Toronto, unless I notified him by telegraph? And
q that he expressly stated to be unnecessary.

“T will meet you at the G. W. R.
How was he to know by what train I would

We did no more sight-seeing. I obeyed the hint con-

My friend

where I waited in feverish impatience for the departure

4 of the train.

We talked over the matter until 11.30, in

‘the vain hope of finding some clue to the mystery. Then
+! started on my journey. Mr. Gridley’s curiosity was

ta ate neg

5

28 The Gerrard Street Mystery.

aroused, and I promised to send him an explanation im- es

mediately upon my arrival at home. nad
No sooner had the train glided out of the station than | nol

I settled myself in my seat, drew the tantalizing letter (7 4,

from my pocket, and proceeded to read and re-read it 4) «a

again and again. A very few perusals sufficed to fix its | 4),
contents in my memory, so that I could repeat every ~
word with my eyes shut. Still I continued to scrutinize

og

®

for

the paper, the penmanship, and even the tint of the ink. ~ it
een P 6 ean : - ren an : q ,
For what purpose, do you ask? For no purpose, except d eas
that I hoped, in some mysterious manner, to obtain more | eons
é ie q
light on the subject. No light came, however. The more ~— aid
; . . = . i )
I scrutinized and pondered, the greater was my mystifi- D star
: ml : : : KS |
cation, ‘The paper was a simple sheet of white letter- 7 oo
paper, of the kind ordinarily used by my uncle in his cor- 7 },..
. respondence, So far as I could see, there was nothing | 4,,
4 ?

ae aie. Ohne Dl egnce tat ~ i
peculiar about the ink. Anyone familiar with my uncle’s |

writing could have sworn that no hand but his had | 4,

penned the lines. His well-known signature, a master- 3 none

. piece of involved hieroglyphics, was there in all its indis- |) ¢, 4:
al tinctness, written as no one but himself could ever have | A
written it. And yet, for some unaccountable reason, I : baa:

was half disposed to suspect forgery. Forgery! What § pose

nonsense. Anyone clever enough to imitate Richard — | .p,

Yardington’s handwriting would have employed his tal- tiate

ents more profitably than indulging in a mischievous and Fy

purposeless jest. Not a bank in Toronto but would have Fy, ,.,

discounted a note with that signature aftixed to it. s Tore

Desisting from all attempts to solve these problems, I i mode
then tried to fathom the meaning of other points in the : rontc
letter. What misfortune had happened to mar the Christ- [ other

tion im-

ion than
ne letter
-read it
to fix its
at every
crutinize
the ink,
», except
ain more
[he more
mystifi-
e letter-
1 his cor-
nothing
y uncle’s
his had
master-
its indis-
ver have
‘eason, I
! What
Richard
L his tal-
ous and
ld have
it.
blems, I
ts in the
Christ-

1 OCA RFE ci BO BIR ge

The Gerrard Street Mystery. 29
mas festivities at my uncle’s house? And what could the
reference to my cousin Alice’s sorrows mean? She was
not ill. That, I thought, might be taken for granted.
My uncle would hardly have referred to her illness as
“one of the sorrows she had to endure lately.” Certainly,
illness may be regarded in the light of a sorrow; but
“sorrow” was not precisely the word which a straight-
forward man like Uncle Richard would have applied to
it. I could conceive of no other cause of affliction in her
case. My uncle was well, as was evinced by his having
written the letter, and by his avowed intention to meet
me at the station, Her father had died long before I
started for Australia. She had no other near relation
except myself, and she had no cause for anxiety, much
less for “ sorrow,” on my account. I thought it singular,
too, that my uncle, having in some strange manner be-
come acquainted with my movements, had withheld the
knowledge from Alice. It did not square with my pre-
conceived ideas of him that he would derive any satis-
faction from taking his niece by surprise.

All was a muddle together, and as my temples throb-
bed with the intensity of my thoughts, I was half dis-
posed to believe myself in a troubled dream from which
I should presently awake. Meanwhile, on glided the
train.

A heavy snow-storm delayed us for several hours, and
we reached Hamilton too late for the mid-day express for
Toronto. We got there, however, in time for the accom~
modation leaving at 3.15 p.m., and we would reach To-
ronto at 5.05. I walked from one end of the train to the
other in hopes of finding some one I knew, from whom I

ee —— -
A OED ee ee ere —<—

30 The Gerrard Street Mystery.

could make enquiries about home. Nota soul. I saw
several persons whom I knew to be residents of Toronto,
but none with whom I had ever been personally ac-
quainted, and none of them would be likely to know
anything about my uncle’s domestic arrangements. All
that remained to be done under these circumstances was
to restrain my curiosity as well as I could until reaching
Toronto, By the by, would my uncle really meet me at
the station, according to his promise? Surely not. By
what means could he possibly know that I would arrive
by this train? Still, he seemed to have such accurate
information respecting my proceedings that there was no
saying where his knowledge began or ended. I tried not
to think about the matter, but as the train approached
Toronto my impatience became positively feverish in its
intensity. We were not more than three minutes behind
time, as we glided in front of the Union Station, I pass-
ed out on to the platform of the car, and peered intently

through the darkness. Suddenly my heart gave a great we
bound. There, sure enough, standing in front of the door Kir
of the waiting-room, was my uncle, plainly discernible «
by the fitful giare of the overhanging lamps. Before the she
train came to a stand-still, I sprang from the car and ad- «
vanced towards him. He was looking out for me, but 7 wo
his eyes not being as young as mine, he did not recognize E and
me until I grasped him by the hand. He greeted me ~~ J

warmly, seizing me by the waist, and almost raising me | wa:
from the ground. I at once noticed several changes in ~~ liol
his appearance; changes for which I was wholly unpre- a lool
pared. He had aged very much since I had last seen | smi

him, and the lines about his mouth had deepened con- gha

l saw
Toronto,
ally ac-
oo know
its, All
nces was
reaching
at me at
ot. By
d arrive
accurate
2 Was no
ried not
oroached
sh in its
s behind
, I pass-
intently
b a great
the door
scernible

fore the
and ad-
me, but
cognize
eted me
sing me
anges in

un pre-
ast seen
ed con-

The Gerrard Street Alystery.

siderably, The iron-grey hair which L remembered so
well had disappeared; its place being supplied with a
new and rather dandified-looking wig, The oldfashioned
ereat-coat which he had worn ever since I could remem-
ber, had been supplanted by a modern frock of spruce cut,
All this I noticed in the

first hurried greetings that passed between us.

with seal-skin collar and eutts,

“Never mind your luggage, my boy,’ he remarked.
“Leave it till to-morrow, when we will send down for it.
If you are not tired we'll walk home instead of taking a
cab. I have a good deal to say to you before we get
there.”

I had not slept since leaving Boston, but was too much
excited to be conscious of fatigue, and as will readily be
believed, I was anxious enough to hear what he had to
say. We passed from the station, and proceeded up
York Street, arm in arm.

“And now, Uncle Richard,’ I said, as soon as we were
well clear of the crowd,—* keep me no longer in suspense.
First and foremost, is Alice well ?”

“Quite well, but for reasons you will soon understand,
she is in deep grief. You must know that .

“ But, I interrupted, “tell me, in the name of all that’s
wonderful, how you knew I was coming by this train ;
and how did you come to write to me at Boston ?”

Just then we came to the corner of Front Street, where
was a lamp-post. As we reached the spot where the
light of the lamp was most brilliant, he turned half round,
looked me full in the face, and smiled a sort of wintry
smile. The expression of his countenance was almost
ghastly.

The Gerrard Street Mystery.

dN

Gr

“Uncle,” I quickly said, “What's the matter? Are
you not well ?”

“T am not as strong as I used to be, and I have had a
good deal to try me of late. Have patience and I will
tell you all. Let us walk more slowly, or I shall not
finish before we get home. In order that you may clear-
ly understand how matters are, I had better begin at the
beginning, and I hope you will not interrupt me with
any questions till I have done. How I knew you would
call at the Boston post-ottice, and that you would arrive
in Toronto by this train, will come last in order, By the
by, have you my letter with you?”

“The one you wrote to me at Boston? Yes, here it is,”
I replied, taking it from my pocket-book.

“ Let me have it.”

I handed it to him, and he put it into the breast pock-
et of his inside coat. I wondered at this proceeding on
his part, but made no remark upon it.

We moderated our pace, and he began his narration.
Of course I don’t pretend to remember his exact words,
but they were to this effect. During the winter follow-
ing my departure to Melbourne, he had formed the ac-
quaintance of a gentleman who bad then recently settled
in Toronto. The name of this gentleman was Marcus
Weatherley, who had commenced business as a wholesale
provision merchant immediately upon his arrival, and had
been engaged in it ever since. For more than three years
the acquaintance between him and my uncle had been
very, slight, but during the last summer they had had
some real estate transactions together, and had become
intimate. Weatherley, who was comparatively a young

&
4
|

eae —
PSMA LPNs ta Sa ant ins CN lg OSS Sa

mos

“

thin
due
heh
thou
four

gone
side
last
Croo
shop
The
ness
two |
to th

/ Are

had a
I will
ull not
y clear-
at the
e with
would
| arrive

By the

‘e it is,”

t pock-
ling on

rration.
words,
follow-
he ac-
settled
Marcus
olesale
nd had
be years
d been
ad had
become
young

The Gerrard Street Mystery. 33

man and unmarried, had been invited to the house on
Gerrard Street, where he had more recently become a
pretty frequent visitor. More recently still, his visits
had become so frequent that my uncle suspected him of a
desire to be attentive to my cousin, and had thought pro-
per to enlighten him as to her engagement with me.
From that day his visits had been voluntarily discon-
tinued, My uncle had not given much consideration to
the subject until a fortnight afterwards, when he had ac-
cidently become aware of the fact that Weatherly was in
embarrassed circumst neces.

Here my uncle paused in his narrative to take breath.
He then added, in a low tone, and putting his mouth al-
most close to my ear :

“And, Willie, my boy, I have at last found out some-
thing else. He has forty-two thousand dollars falling
due here and in Montreal within the next ten days, and
he has forged my signature to acceptances for thirty-nine
thousand seven hundred and sixteen dollars and twenty-
four cents.”

Those to the best of my belief, were his exact words.
We had walked up York Street to Queen, and then had
gone down Queen to Yonge, when we turned up the east
side on ovr way homeward. At the moment when the
last words were uttered we had got a few yards north of
Crookshank Street, immediately in front of a chemist’s
shop which was, I think, the third house from the corner.
The window of this shop was well lighted, and its bright-
ness was reflected on the sidewalk in front. Just then,
two gentlemen walking rapidly in the opposite direction
to that we were taking brushed by us; but I was too

34. The Gerrard Street Alystery.

deeply absorbed in my uncle’s communication to pay
much attention to passers-by, Scarcely had they passed,
however, ere one of them stopped and exclaimed :

“Surely that is Willie Furlong!”

TI turned, and recognised Johnny Grey, one of my old-
est friends. I relinquished my uncle’s arm fer a moment,
and shook hands with Grey, who said:

“Tam surprised to see you. I heard only a few days
ago, that you were not to be here till next spring.”

“Tam here,” I remarked, “somewhat in advance of
my own expectations.” I then hurriedly enquired after
several of our common friends, to which enquiries he
briefly replied.

“ All well,” he said ; “but you are in a hurry, and so
amI. Don’t let me detain you. Be sure and look in on
me to-morrow. You will find me at the old place, in the

Romain Buildings.”

We again shook hands, and he passed on down the
street with the gentleman who accompanied him. I then
turned to re-possess myself of my uncle’s arm. The old
gentleman had evidently walked on, for he was not in
sight. I hurried along, making sure of overtaking him
before reaching Gould Street, for my interview with Gray
had occupied barely a minute. In another minute I was

at the corner of Gould Street. No signs of Uncle Rich- |

ard. I quickened my pace to a run, which soon brought

me to Gerrard Street. Stillno signs of my uncle. [had |
certainly not passed him on my way, and he could not |
have got farther on his homeward route than bere. He |

‘A

4
a
=

ay
Dy

ass

ERR a SG Say ie eee

EET Na ne Pee 6 Seater Reread

Ah

mine. Pst

Wwe

meé

W.

tel
no}

The Gerrard Street Mystery. 35
to pay 4 steps all the way to the front of the chemist’s shop, peer-
‘passed, 9 ing into every window and doorway as I passed along.

No one in the least resembling him was to be seen.

I stood still for a moment, and reflected. Even if he
had run at full speed—athing most unseemly for him
to do—he could not have reached the corner of Gerrard
Street before I had done so. And what should he run
for? He certainly did not wish to avoid me, for he had
more to tell me before reaching home. Perhaps he had
turned down Gould Street. At any rate, there was no
use waiting for him. I might as well go home at once.
And I did.

Upon reaching the old familiar spot, I opened the gate
passed on up the steps to the front door, and rang the
bell. The door was opened by a domestic who had not
formed part of the establishment in my time, and who
did not know me; but Alice happened to be passing
through the hall, and heard my voice as I inquired for
Uncle Richard. Another moment and she was in my
arms, With a strange foreboding at my heart I noticed
: 4 that she was in deep mourning. We passed into the
Ing him | dining-room, where the table was laid for dinner.
ith Gray 4 “Has Uncle Richard come in?” I asked, as soon as we
ite I was were alone. “Why did he run away from me ?”
cle Rich- “Who 2?” exclaimed Alice, with a start; “what do you
1 brought) mean, Willie ? Is it possi le you have not heard ?”

iny old-

moment,

‘ew days
”

vance of
red after
uiries he

y, and so
ok in on
ce, in the

lown the bE
I then
The old

as not in —

e. Thad @ “Heard what ?”
pould cee a “T see you have not heard,” she replied. “Sit down,
bere, tle Be

Willie, and prepare yourself for painful news. But first
tel] me what you meant by saying what you did just
now,—who was it that ran away from you ?”

nee thing
raced my

er ser

30 The Gerrard Street Mystery.

“ Well, perhaps I should hardly call it running away,
but he certainly disappeared most mysteriously, down
here near the corner of Yonge and Crookshank Streets,

“Of whom are you speaking ?”

“Of Uncle Richard, of course.”

“Unele Richard! The corner of Yonge and Crook-
shank Streets ! When did you see him there ?”

“When? A quarter of an hour ago. He met me at
the station and we walked up together till I met Johnny
Gray. I turned to speak to Johnny for a moment,

when a nis
“ Willie, what on earth are you talking about? You ‘
are labouring under some strange delusion. Uncle Rich- ‘
ard died of apoplexy more than six weeks ago, and lies Ali
buried in St. James’s Cemetery.” int
‘

~ dea

«

= he )

DON’T know how long I sat there, trying usu

to think, with my face buried in my hands. befc

My mind had been kept ona strain during | But

the last thirty hours, and the succession of . “

surprises to which I had been subjected had — had
temporarily paralyzed my faculties. For afew F ‘
moments after Alice’s announcement I must have beenin —§ ®@nd
a sort of stupor. My imagination, I remember, ran riot =
about everything in general, and nothing in particular. § a
My cousin’s momentary impression was that I had met over
with an accident of some kind, which had unhinged my over

brain. The first distinct remembrance I have after this In je;

way,
down
reets,

'rook-

me at
yhnny
ment,

You
Rich-

vd les

trying
hands.
luring
ion of
1 had
a few
een in
n riot
icular.
d met
d my
by this

aa a eS foe
PRD 55 Mee

eos es eee

See

eos pices

Bere
Bets ty,

The Gerrard Street Mystery. 37

is, that | suddenly awoke from my stupor to find Alice
kneeling at my feet, and holding me by the hand, ‘Then
my mental powers came back to me, and I recalled all the
incidents of the evening.

“ When did uncle’s death take place?” I asked.

“On the 8rd of November, about four o’clock in the
afternoon, It was quite unexpected, though he had not
enjoyed his usual health for some weeks before. He fell
down in the hall, just as he was returning from a walk,
and died within two hours. He never spoke or recog-
nised any one after his seizure.”

“What bas become of his old overcoat ?” I asked.

“ Tlis old overcoat, Willie—what a question ?” replied
Alice, evidently thinking that I was again drifting back
into insensibility.

“Did he continue to wear it up to the day of his
death ?” I asked.

“No. Cold weather set in very early this last fall, and
he was compelled to don his winter clothing earlier than
usual, He had a new oyercoat made within a fortnight
before he died. He had it on at the time of his seizure.
But why do you ask ?”

“Was the new coat cut by a fashionable tailor, and
had it a fur collar and cuffs ?”

“Tt was cut at Stovel’s, | think. It had a fur collar
and cuffs.”

“ When did he begin to wear a wig ?”

“ About the same time that he began to wear his new
overcoat. I wrote you a letter at the time, making merry
over his youthful appearance and hinting-—of course only
in jest—that he was looking out for a young wife. But

38 The Gerrard Street Mystery.

you surely did not receive my letter. You must have
been on your way home before it was written.”

“T left Melbourne on the 11th of October. The wig,
I suppose, was buried with him ?”

“ Yes.”

“And where is the overcoat ?”

“Tn the wardrobe upstairs, in uncle’s room.”

“Come and show it to me.”

I led the way upstairs, my cousin following. In the
hall on the first floor we encountered my old friend Mrs,
Daly, the housekeeper. She threw up her hands in sur-
prise at seeing me. Our greeting was very brief; I was
too intent on solving the problem which had exercised
my mind ever since receiving the letter at Boston, to pay
much attention to anything else. Two words, however,
explained to her where we were going, and at our request
she accompanied us. We passed into my uncle’s room,
My cousin drew the key of the wardrobe from a drawer
where it was kept, and unlocked the door. There hung
the overcoat. <A single glance was sufficient. It was the
same.

The dazed sensation in my head began to make itself
felt again. The atmosphere of the room seemed to
oppress me, and closing the door of the wardrobe, I led
the way down stairs again to the dining-room, followed
by my cousin. Mrs. Daly had sense enough to perceive
that we were discussing family matters, and retired to her
own room,

I took my cousin’s hand in mine, and asked:

“Will you tell me what you know of Mr. Marcus
Weatherley ?”

son
bee
pret
bef
you
him
afte
som
loss
imp
he se
Indé
witl
I
min
«
Imi
‘6
give
sora
read
agai
SI
side
mak
eati
fran

n the
| Mrs.
1 sur-
[ was
rcised
oO pay
vever,
>quest
room,
rawer
hung
as the

itself
ed to
I led
lowed
receive
to her

larcus

way i

The Gerrard Street Mystery. 39

This was evidently another surprise for her. How
could I have heard of Marcus Weatherley? She an-
swered, however, without hesitation :

“T know very little of him. Unele Richard and he had
some dealings a few months since, and in that way he
became a visitor here. After a while he began to call
pretty often, but his visits suddenly ceased a short time
before uncle’s death. TI need not affect any reserve with
you. Uncle Richard thought he came after ine, and gave
him a hint that you had a prior claim. He never called
afterwards, Iam rather glad that he didn’t, for there is
something about him that I don’t quite like. Jam at a
loss to say what the something is; but his manner always
impressed me with the idea that he was not exactly what
he seemed to be on the surface. Perhaps I misjudged him,
Indeed, I think I must have done so, for he stands well
with everybody, and is highly respected.”

I looked at the clock on the mantel piece. It was ten
minutes to seven, I rose from my seat.

“JT will ask you to excuse me for an hour or two, Alice,
I must find Johnnie Gray.

“But you will not leave me, Willie, until you have
given me some clue to your unexpected arrival, and to the
strange questions you have been asking? Dinner is
ready, and can be served at once. Pray don’t go out
again till you have dined.”

She clung to my arm. It was evident that she con-
sidered me mad, and thought it probable that I might
make away with myself. This I could not bear. As for
eating any dinner, that was simply impossible in my then
frame of mind, although [ had not tasted food since leav-

40 The Gerrard Street Mystery.

ing Rochester. 1 resolved to tell her all. 1 resumed my
seat. She placed herself on a stool at my feet, and lis-
tened while I told her all that I have set down as_hap-
pening to me subsequently to my last letter to her from
Mc'!bourne.

“ And now, Alice, you know why I wish to see Johnny
Gray.”

She would have accompanied me, but I thought it better
to prosecute my inquiries alone. JI promised to return
sometime during the night, and tell her the result of my
interview with Gray. That gentleman had married and
become a householder on his own account during my
absence in Australia, Alice knew his address, and gave
me the number of his house, which was on Church
Street. A few minutes’ rapid walking brought me to his
door. I had no great expectation of finding him at home,
as I deemed it probable he had not returned from wher-
ever he had been going when I met him; but l should be
able to find out when he was expected, and would either
wait or go in search of him. Fortune favored me for
once, however ; he had returned more than an hour before.
I was ushered into the drawing-room, where I found him
playing cribbage with his wife.

“Why, Willie,” he exclaimed, advancing to welcome me,
“this is kinder than I expected. I hardly looked for you
before to-morrow. All the better; we have just been
speaking of you. Ellen, this is my old friend, Willie
Furlong, the returned convict, whose banishment you
have so often heard me deplore.”

After exchanging brief courtesies with Mrs. Gray, I
turned to her husband.

ed my
1d lis-
; hap-
* from

ohnny

better
return
of my
ad and
ne my
d gave
Shureh
>to his
home,
wher-
uld be

either
me for
before.
nd him

me me,
for you
st been

Willie
mt you

rray, I

The Gerrard Street Mystery. 41

“Johnny, did you notice anything remarkable about
the old gentleman who was with me when we met on
Young Street this evening ?”

“Old gentleman! who? There was no one with you
when I met you.”

“Think again, He and I were walking arm in arm,
and you had passed us before you recognized me, and
mentioned my name.”

He looked hard in my face for a moment, and then
said positively :

“You are wrong, Willie. You were certainly alone
when we met. You were walking slowly, and I must
have noticed if any one had been with you.”

“It is you who are wrong,” I retorted, almost sternly.
“T was accompanied by an elderly gentleman, who wore
a great coat with fur collar and cuffs, and we were con-
versing earnestly together when you passed us,”

He hesitated an instant, and seemed to consider, but
there wa* no shade of doubt on his face.

“Have it your own way, old boy,” he said. “ All I
can say is, that I saw no one but yourself, and neither
did Charley Leitch, who was with me. After parting
from you we commented upon your evident abstraction,
and the sombre expression of your countenance, which
we attributed to your having only recently heard of the
sudden death of your Uncle Richard. If any old gentle-
man had been with you we could not possibly have failed
to notice him.”

Without a single wora by way of explanation or apol-
ogy, I jumped from my seat, passed out into the hall,
seized my hat, and left the house.

f
5
:

COE LOO LLLELL EOL ION OE CONT NO A Tm as =

Lhe Gerrard Street Mystery.

sely
P Hl. not
aD “
‘TQ UT into the street I rushed like a madman,
was
banging the door after me. I knew that ;
ces . hav
» Johnny would follow me for an explanation,
iF so I ran like lightning round the next corn- br
\ ; brie
: er, and thence down to Yonge Street. Then :
(, this
i
+

& I dropped into a walk, regained my breeth, and
asked myself what I should do next.

Suddenly I bethought me of Dr. Marsden, an old friend
of my uncle’s. I hailed a passing cab, and drove to his
house. The doctor was in his consultation-room, and
alone.

Of course he was surprised to see me, and gave expres-
sion to some appropriate words of sympathy at my be-
reavement. “But how is it that I see you so soon ?” he
asked—‘“ I understood that you were not expected for
some months to come.”

Then I began my story, which I related with great
circumstantiality of detail, bringing it down to the mo-
ment of my arrival at his house. He listened with the
closest attention, never interrupting me by a single ex-
clamation until I had finished. Then he began to ask
questions, some of which I thought strangely irrelevant. .

“Have you enjoyed your usual good health during ©
your residence abroad ?” 4

“Never better in my life. I have not hada moment’s —| You
illness since you last saw me.”

“ And how have you prospered in your business enter-
prises ?”

“Reasonably well; but pray doctor, let us confine our- § coul

man,

that
ition,
corn-
Then
, and

riend
to his
and

?

<pres-
Ly be-
2” he
ed for

great
he mo-
th the
rle ex-
to ask
levant.
during

bment’s

| enter-

ne our-

Rs
Bi

4

The Gerrard Street Mystery. 43

selves to the matter in hand, I have come for friendly,
not professional, advice.”

“ All in good time, my boy,” he calmly remarked. This
was tantalizing, My strange narrative did not seem to
have disturbed his serenity in the least degree.

“Did you have a pleasant passage ?” he asked, after a
brief ;ause. “ ‘The ocean, I believe, is generally rough at
this time of year.”

“T felt a little squeamish for a day or two after leav-
ing Melbourne,” I replied, “ but I soon got over it, and it
was not very bad even while it lasted. I am a tolerably
good sailor.”

“And you have had no special ground of anxiety of
late? At least not until you received this wonderful let-
ter”—he added, with a perceptible contraction of his lips,
as though trying to repress a smile.

Then I saw what he was driving at.

“Doctor,” I exclaimed, with some exasperation in my
tone—“ pray dismiss from your mind the idea that what
I have told you is the result of diseased imagination. I
am as sane as youare. ‘The letter itself affords sufficient
evidence that I am not quite such a fool as you take me
for.”

“My dear boy, I don’t take you for a fool at all,
although you are a little excited just at present. But I
thought you said you returned the letter to —ahem—
your uncle,”

For a moment I had forgotten that important fact.
But I was not altogether without evidence that I had not
been the victim of a disordered brain. My friend Gridley
could corroborate the receipt of the letter and its con-

44 The Gerrard Street Mystery.

tents. My cousin could bear witness that [had displayed
an acquaintance with facts which I would not have been
likely to learn from any one but my uncle, I had
referred to his wig and overcoat, and had mentioned to
her the name of Mr. Marcus Weatherley—a name which I
had never heard before in my life. I called Dr. Marsden’s
attention to these matters, and asked him to explain them
if he could,

“T admit,” said the doctor, “ that I don’t quite see my
way to a satisfactory explanation just at present. But
let us look the matter squarely in the face. During an
acquaintance of nearly thirty years, I always found your
uncle a truthful man, who was cautious enough to make
no statements about his neighbours that he was not able to
prove. Your informant, on the other hand, does not seem
to have confined himself to facts. He made a charge of
forgery against a gentleman whose moral and commercial
integrity are unquestioned by all who know him. I know
Marcus Weatherley pretty well, and am not disposed to
pronounce him a forger and a scoundrel upon the unsup-
ported evidence of a shadowy old gentleman who appears
and disappears in the most mysterious manner, and who
cannot be laid hold of and held responsible for his slan-
ders in a court of law. And it is not true, as far as J
know and believe, that Marcus Weatherley is embarrassed
in his circumstances. Such contidence have I in his sol-
vency and integrity that I would not be afraid to take up
all his outstanding paper without asking a question. If
you will make inquiry, you will find that my opinion is
shared by all the bankers in the city. And I have no hes-
itation in saying that you will find no acceptances with

your
whet
aed
“ Me;
frien
askin
and t
ot
if yo
desk
It
asked
medig
short
3 M
answe
At
office,
box v
pairec
ing A
factor
with ¢
thing
me,
But
one sid
ish anq
for br¢
arriva

Afte

vyed
been

had
d to
ich I
jen’s
chem

» my
But
g¢ an
your
nake
rle to
seem
ge of
reial
now
d to
hsup-
pears
who
slan-
as I
assed
5 sol-
ce up
. If
ion is
, hes-
with

The Gerrard Street Mystery. 45

your uncle’s name to them, either in this market or else-
where.”

“That I will try to ascertain to-morrow,” I replied.
“Meanwhile, Dr. Marsden, will you oblige your old
friend’s nephew by writing to Mr. Junius Gridley, and
asking him to acquaint you with the contents of the letter,
and the circumstances under which I received it?”

“ Tt seems an absurd thing to do,” he said, “but I will
if you like. What shall I say?” and he sat down at his
desk to write the letter.

It was written in less than five minutes. It simply
asked for the desired information, and requested an im-
mediate reply. Below the doctor's signature I added a
short postscript in these words :—

‘My story about the letter and its contents is discredited. Pray
answer fully, and at once,—W. F. F.”

At my request the doctor accompanied me to the Post-
office, on Toronto Street, and dropped the letter into the
box with his own hands. I bade him good night, and re-
paired to the Rossin House. I did not feel like encounter-
ing Alice again until I could place myself in a more satis-
factory light before her. I despached a messenger to her
with a short note stating that I had not discovered any-
thing important, and requesting her not to wait up for
me. Then I engaged a room and went to bed.

But not to sleep. All night long I tossed about from
one side of the bed to the other ; and at daylight, fever-
ish and unrefreshed, I strolled out. JI returned in time
for breakfast, but ate little or nothing. I longed for the
arrival of ten o’clock, when the banks would open.

After breakfast I sat down in the reading-room of the

; I
t
!
|

46 The Gerrard Street Mystery.

hotel, and vainly tried to fix my attention upon the local
columns of the morning’s paper. I remember reading
over several items time after time, without any compre-
hension of theirmeauing. After that I remember—noth-
ing.

Nothing ?. All was blank for more than five weeks.
When consciousness came back to me I found myself in
bed in my own old room, in the house on Gerrard Street,
and Alice and Dr. Marsden were standing by my bed-
side,

No need to tellhow my hair had been removed, nor
about the bags of ice that had been applied to my head.
No need to linger over any details of the “ pitiless fever
that burned in my brain.” No need, either, to linger
over my progress back to convalescence, and thence to
complete recovery. In a week from the time I have
mentioned, I was permitted to sit up in bed, propped up
by a mountain of pillows. My impatience would brook
no further delay, and I was allowed to ask questions
akout what had happened in the interval which had
elapsed since my over wrought nerves gave way under
the prolonged strain upon them. First, Junius Gridley’s
letter in reply to Dr. Marsden was placed in my hands.
Ihave it still in my possession, and I transcribe the
following copy from the original now lying before me :—

Boston, Dec. 22nd, 1861.
Dr. MARSDEN :

‘* In reply to your letter, which has just been received, I have to
say that Mr. Fur'oug and myself became acquainted for the first
time during our recent passage from Liverpool to Boston, in the
Persia, which arrived here Monday last. Mr. Furlong accom-
panied me home, and remained until Tuesday morning, when I

oat Wc

gis ae

Pete

too

ne
dro
ber
—h
rece
ver
tent
full
com
pres
pate
ferre
info
too,
cent
intet
his a
near
Mr.
It wi
pecu
liarit
lette
inter
namd
ee

and
left
the n
ever
glad
voly
pry i

ocal
ling
pre-
oth-

seks.
lf in
reet,
bed-

, nor
head.
fever
linger
ice to
have
ed up
brook
bstions
h had
under

1861.

have to
1e first

in the
accom:
when |

>

Soe eee

AE terre

ai

a

The Gerrard Strect Alystery. 47

took him to see the Public Library, the State House, the Athe-
neum, Faneuil Hall, and other points of interest. We casually
dropped into the post-oftice, and he remarked upon the great num-
ber of letters there. At my instigation—made, of course, in jest
—he applied at the General Delivery for letters for himself. He
received one bearing the Toronto post-mark. He was naturally
very much surprised at receiving it, and was not less so at its con-
tents. After reading it he handed it to me, and I also read it care-
fully. I cannot recollect it word for word, but it professed to
come from ‘ his affectionate uncle, Richard Yardington. It ex-
pressed pleasure at his coming home sooner than had been antici-
pated, and hinted in rather vague terms at some calamity. He re-
ferred toa lady called Alice, and stated that she had not been
informed of Mr. Furlong’s intended arrival. There was something
too, about his presence at home being a recompense to her for re-
cent grief which she had sustained. It also expressed the writer’s
intention to meet his nephew at the Toronto railway station upon
his arrival, and stated that no telegram need be sent. ‘This, as
nearly as | can remember, was about all there was in the letter.
Mr. Furlong professed to recognise the handwriting as his uncle’s.
It was a cramped hand, not easy to read, and the signature was so
peculiarly formed that i was hardly able to decipher it. The pecu-
liarity consisted of the extreme irregularity in the formation of the
letters, no two of which were of equal size ; and capitals were
interspersed promiscuously, more especially throughout the sur-
name,

‘*Mr,. Furlong was much agitated by the contents of the letter,
and was anxious for the arrival of the time of his departure. He
left by the B. & A. train at 11.30. This is really all 1 know about
the matter, and I have been anxiously expecting to hear from him
ever since he left. I confess that I feel curious, and should be
glad to hear from him—that is, of course, unless something is in-

volved which it would be impertinent for a comparative stranger to
pry into,

‘© Yours, &c.,
‘** Junrus H. Griptey.”
So that my friend has completely corroborated my ac-
count, so far as the letter was concerned. My account,

48 The Gerrard Street Mystery.

however, stood in no need of corroboration, as will pre-
sently appear.

When I was stricken down, Alice and Dr. Marsden
were the only persons to whom I had communicated
what my uncle had said to me during our walk from the
station. They both maintained silence in the matter, ex-
cept to each other. Between themselves, in the early
days of my illness, they discussed it with a good deal of
feeling on each side. Alice implicitly believed my story
from first to last. She was wise enough to see that I had
been made acquainted with matters that I could not pos-
sibly have learned through any ordinary channels of
communication. In short, she was not so ena’ > .2ed of
professional jargon as to have lost her common sense,
The doctor, however, with the mole-blindness of many of
his tribe, refused to believe. Nothing of this kind had
previous!y come within the range of his own experience,
and it was therefore impossible. He accounted for it all
upon the hypothesis of my impending fever. He is not
the only physician who mistakes cause for effect, and vice
versa.

During the second week of my prostration, Mr. Marcus
Weatherley absconded, This event so totally unlooked
for by those who had had dealings with him, at once
brought his financial condition to light. It was found
that he had been really insolvent for several months past.
The day after his departure a number of his acceptances
became due. These acceptances proved to be four in
number, amounting to exactly forty-two thousand dol-
lars. So that that part of my uncle’s story was confirm-
ed. One of the acceptances was payable in Montreal, and

thou.

Wouttl
CHE
diseo
ous |
From
each
and |

tion

re-

len
ted
the
eX-
uly
1 of
[Ory
had
pos-
ls of
1 of
ense.
ry of
had

Gerrd] A fivel Mystery. 49

was for 82,285.76. The other three were payable at dif-
ferent banks in Toronto, These last had been drawn at

sixty days, and exch of them bore a signature presumed

to be that of Richard Yardineton. One of them was for

88,972.11; another was for 310,114.63; and the third
and last was for $20,629.50, A) short sum in simple ad-

dition will show us the aggrevate of these three amounts—
$5,972 11
LOL14 63
20,629 50
SBU,716 24
which was the amount for which my unele claimed that
his name had been forved,

Within a week atter these things came to light a letter
addressed to the manager of one of the leading banking
institutions of Toronto arrived from Mr. Marcus Weather-
ley, He wrote from New York, but stated that he should
leave there within an hourfrom the time of posting his
letter, He voluntarily admitted having forged the name
of hy unele to the three acceptances above referred to
and entered into other details about his affairs, which,
thouch interesting enouch to his ereditors at that time,
would have no special interest to the public at the pre-
Sent day. ‘The banks where the acceptances had been
discounted we wise afte: the fact, and deteeted numer-
ous little details whereim the forged signatures diftered
from the genuine signatures of my Unele Richard. In
each ease they pocketed the loss and held their tongues,

}

wid T dare say they will not thank me for calling atten-

tion to the matter, even at this distance of time.
a

50 The Gerrard Street Alystery.

There is not much more to tell, Mareus Weatherley,
the forger, met his fate within a few days after writing
his letter from New York. He took passage at New
Bedford, Massachusetts, in a sailing vessel called the Pefre/
bound for Havana, The Petrel sailed from port on the
12th of January, 1862, and went down in mid-ocean with
all hands on the 23rd of the same month. She sank in
full sight of the captain and crew of the City of baltimore
(Inman Line), but the hurricane prevailing was such that
the latter were unable to render any assistance, or to save
one of the ill-fated crew from the fury of the waves.

At an early stage in the story I mentioned that the
only fictitious element should be the name of one of the
characters introduced. The name is that of Marcus Wea-
therley himself. The person whom I have so designated
really bore a different name—one that is still remem-
bered by scores of people in Toronto, He has paid the
penalty of his inisdeeds, and I see nothing to be gained
by perpetuating them in connection with his own proper
name, In all other particulars the foregoing narrative is
as true as a tolerably retentive memory has enabled me
to record it.

[ don’t propose to attempt any psychological explana-
tion of the events here recorded, for the very sutticient
reason that only one explanation is possible. The weird
letter and its contents, as has been seen, do not rest upon
iny testimony alone, With respect to my wall from the
station with Uncle Richard, and the conmunication made
by him to me, all the details are as real to my mind as
any other incidents of my life. The only obvious deduc-
tion is, that I was made the recipient of « communication

Tee Ue

pr
het
the
ana
abo
whi
Pose
by
man
por
ra
abou
form
thet
that
fever
have
deliv
the s
AL NOs
It
lueing
trom
The
heees;
hot s¢
hatio
at th

rel
he
ith
in
Ore
hat
ave

the
the
Vea-
ated
1Cli-
1 the
Lined
‘oper
ive is
hd me

ylana-
icient
weird
upon
rm the
» made
ind as
deduc-
ication

The Gerrard Street AMLystery.

wm

of the kind which the world is accustomed to regard as
supernatural,

Ma. Owen's publishers have my full permission to appro-
priate this story in the next edition of his “Debatable Land
hetween this World and the Next.” Should they do so,
their readers will doubtless be favoured with an elaborate
analysis of the facts, and with a pseudo-philosophie theory
about spiritual communion with human beings. My wife,
who is an enthusiastic student of electro-biology, is dis-
posed to believe that Weatherley’s mind, overweighted
by the knowledge of his forgery, was in some occult
manner, and unconsciously to himself, constrained to act
upon my own senses. [ prefer, however, simply to nar-
re’ She faets. IT imay or inay not have my own theory
about those facts. The reader is at perfect liberty to
form one of his own if be so pleases. I may mention
that Dr. Marsden professes to believe to the present day
that my mind was disordered by. the approach of the
fever which eventually struck me down, and that all I
have deseribed was merely the result of what he, with
delightful periphrasis, calls “an abnormal condition of
the system, indueed by causes too remote for specific di-
adenosis,”

4

It will be observed that, whether I was under an hal-
lucination or not, the information supposed to be derived
from my uncle was strictly accurate in all its details.
The fact that the disclosure subsequently became un-
necessary through the confession of Weatherley does
not seem to me to afford any argument for the halluei-
nation theory. My unele’s communication was important
at the time when it was given to me; and we have no

2 The Gerrard Street Mystery.

-
R)

’

reason for believing that “those who are gone betore’
are universally gifted with a knowledge of the future.

It was open to me to make the facts public as soon as
they became known to me, and had I done so, Marcus
Weatherley might have been arrested and punished for
his crime. Had not my illness supervened, I think I
should have made discoveries in the course of the day
following my arrival in Toronto which would have led
to his arrest.

Such speculations are profitless enough, but they have
often formed the topic of discussion between my wife
and myself. Gridley, too, whenever he pays us a visit,
invariably revives the subject, which he long ago chris-
tened “The Gerrard Street Mystery,” although it might
just as correctly be ealled “The Yonge Street Mystery,”
or, “The Mystery of the Union Station.” He has urged
ine a hundred times over to publish the story ; and now,
after all these years, I follow his counsel, and adopt his

nomenclature in the title.

DIME ae

stran

With
“nat
to ex
rapid
hand

tary
sentir

lay
led

wef} GAGTOOTITS IMAGE.

; - —6 + <= +

nris-

ight
> ”

ery,

BOUT three o'clock in the afternoon of
reed

Wednesday, the fourth of September,
1884, I was riding up Yonge Street, in
the city of Toronto, on the top of a
crowded omnibus. The omnibus Was
bound for Thornhill, and my own desti-
nation was the intermediate village of
Willowdale. Having been in Canada
only a short time, and being almost a
stranger in Toronto, I dare say I was looking around me
watt more attention and curiosity than persons who are

native here, and to the manner born,” are accustomed
toexhibit. We had just passed Isabella Street, and were
rapidly nearing Charles Street, when I noticed on my right
hand a large, dilapidated frame building, standing in soli-
tary isolation a few feet back from the highway, and pre-
senting the appearance of a veritable Old Curiosity Shop.

SEERA SAE

now,
bt, his

sR SSAS

tt

ie
id

54 Gagtooth’s mage Z

A business was carried on here in second hand furniture of
the poorest description, and the object of the proprietor
seemed to have been to collect about him all sorts of
worn-out commodities, and objects which were utterly
unmarketable. HKverybody who lived in Toronto at the
time indicated will remember the establishment, which, as
[ subsequently learned, was owned and carried on by a
man named Robert Southworth, familiarly known to his
customers as “ Old Bob.” IT had no sooner arrived abreast

of the gateway leading into the yard immediately ad-

joining the buiiding to the southward, than my eyes

rested upon something which instantly caused them to

open themselves to their very widest capacity, and con-

strained me to signal the driver to stop; which he had

no sooner done than I alighted from my seat and re-
quested him to proceed on his journey without me, ‘The
driver eyed me suspiciously, and evidently regarded me
as an odd customer, but he obeyed my request, and drove
on northward, leaving me standing in the middle of the
street.

From my elevated seat on the roof of the ‘bus, I had
‘aught a hurried glimpse of a commonpiace-looking little
marble figure, placed on the top of a pedestal, in the yard
already referred to, where several other figures in marble,
wood, bronze, stucco and what not, were exposed for sale.

The particular figure which had attracted my attention
was about fifteen inches in height, and represented a
little child in the attitude of prayer. Anyone seeing it
for the first time would probably have taken it for a
representation of the Infant Samuel. I have called it
commonplace ; and considered as a work of art, such it

ieee ee

Rimi Sick

ibid Bisco a

in t¢
whi
my
atta
mat
Ing
wor
whi
A
wall
73
ask

(<9

fiou

(‘73
I ca
p
wha
crow

Oll-
rad

re-
The

Wie

rove
the

had
ittle
rard
rble,
sale.
htion
eda
ng it
for a
led it

ch it

Gagtooth's Image.

Ur
Jt

undoubtedly was; yet it must have possessed a certain
distinctive individuality, for the brief glance which [ had
‘aught of it, even at that distance, had been sutlicient to
convince me that the figure was an old acquaintance of
mine, Lt was in consequence of that conviction that I
had dismounted from the omnibus, forgetful, for the
moment, of everything but the matter which was upper-
most in my mind,

[ lost no time in passing through the cateway leading
into the yard, and in walking up to the pedestal upon
which the little figure was placed. Takine the latter in
my hand, I found, as I had expected, that it was not
attached to the pedestal, which was of totally difterent
inaterial, and much more elaborate workmanship, Turns
ing the figure upside down, my eyes rested on these
words, deeply cut into the little circular throne upon
which the figure rested :—JACKSON : Porta, 1854,

At this juncture the proprietor of the establishment
walked up to where i was standing beside the pedestal,

“Like to look at something in that way, sir?” he
asked— we have more inside.”

“What is the price of this?” I asked, indicating the
figure in my hand.

“That, sir; you may have that for fifty cents—of
course without the pedestal, which don’t belong to it.”

“Have you had it on hand long ?”

“T don't know, but if you'll step inside for a moment
[can tell you. This way, sir.”

Taking the figure under my arm, [ followed him into
what he called “the office "—a small and dircy room,
crowded with old furniture in the last stage of dilapida-

q

H
va
i

t

56 Gagloe “hs Lin

tion. Erom a desk in one corne) ok oa dare tome

}

labelled “ Stoek Bock.” to whieh he referred,

ing at a hieroglyphical device pasted on the
I held under my arm,

“Ves, sir—had that ever sinee the 14th of March,
—boueht it at Morris & Blackwell's sale, sir”

“ Who and what are Messrs. Morris & Blaekwell 7” IJ

iter clane

fioure which

| SSO)

enquired,

“They were auctioneers, down on Adelaide Street, in
the city, sir, Failed sometime last winter, Mr, Morris
has since died, and I believe Black well, the other partner
went to the States,”

After a few more questions, finding
beyond what he had al-

Pat he knew noth-

ine whatever about the matter |

ready told me, I paid over the titty &

with thanks his offer to send my purchase home to me, |
]

marched off with it down the street, and made the best of
where I had been

nts; and, declining

my way back to the Rossin House,
staying for some days before.

Krom what has been said, it will b
had some special reason

‘inferred that I—a
stranger in Canada—must have
for incumbering myself in my travels with an intrinsi-
cally worthless piece of common Columbia marble.

I hada reason. I had often seen that little figure be-
fore ; and the last time I had seen it, previous to the oe-
} ¢ +} : » ,
becn at the town of Peoria,

easion above mentioned, had
in the State of Illinois, sometime in the month of June,
1855.

There isa story connected with that little praying
figure; a story, which, to me, is a very touching one; and

I believe myself to be the only human being capable of

of
thie
hin
thie
VIO
smi
cau
and
the
ely
Duz
stea
whi
alno
tim
mor
for ¢
lyin
tor
that
wor
well
Witt
not
duri
as W
ther

une,

ying
rand
le of

Gagtooth's Image. 57

telling it. Indeed, 7 am only able to tell a part of it,

llow the figure came to be sold by auetion, in the city of

‘Toronto, at Messrs. Morris & blackwell’s sale on the 14th
of March, 1889, or how it ever came to be in this part. of
the world at all, L know no more than the reader does ;
but Lean probably tell all that is worth knowing about
the matter,

In the year 1850, and for [ know not how long pre-
viously, there livedat Peoria, Hlinois, a journeyman-black-
smith named Abner Fink. I mention the date, 1850, be-
cause it was in that year that I myself settled in Peoria,
and first had any knowledge of him ; but I believe he had
then been living there for some length of time. He was
employed at the foundry of Messrs. Gowanlock and Van
Duzer, and was known for ar execllent workman, of
steady habits, and good moral cuaracter—qualitications
which were by no means universal, nor even common,
ainong persons of his calling and degree of life, at the
time and place of which Iam writing. But he was still
more conspicuous (on the lucus a non lucendo principle?
for another quality—that of reticence. It was very rare-
ly indeed that he spoke to anyone, exeept when called upon
to reply to a question ; and even then it was noticeable
that he invariably employed the fewest and most concise
words in his vocabulary. If brevity were the body, as
well as the soul of wit, Fink must have been about the
wittiest man that evei lived, the Monosyllabic Traveller
not excepted. He never receiveda letter from any one
during the whole time of his stay at Peoria ; nor, so far
as was known, did he ever write to any one. Indeed,
there was no evidence that he was able to write. He

58 Gactooth's Image.

never went to church, nor even to “meeting; never at

tended any public entertainment; never took any holi-
days. All his time was spent either at the foundry where
he worked, or at the boarding-house where he lodged.
In the latter place, the greater part of his hours of relaxa-
tion were spent in looking either out of the window or
into the fire ; thinking, apparently, about nothing parti-
cular, All endeavov s on the part of his fellow boarders
to draw him into conversation were utterly fruitless. No
one in the place knew anything about his past life, and
when his fellow-journeymen in the workshop attempted
to inveigle lim into any confidence on that subject, he
had a tricix of calling up a harsh and sinister expression
of countenance which effectually nipped all such experi-
ments in the bud, Even his employers failed to elicit
anything from him on this head, beyond the somewhat
vague piece of intelligence that he hailed from “down
east.” The foreman of the establishment with a desper-
ate attempt at facetiousness, used to say of him, that no
one knew who he was, where he came from, where he
was going to, or what he was going to do when he got

there.

And yet, this utter lac! ° sociability could scarcely
have arisen from posit* uness or unkindness of dis-
position. Instances not wanting in which he had

given pretty strong evidence that he carried beneath that
rugged art uncouth exterior a kinder and more gentle
heart than is possessed by most men. Upon one occasion
he had jumped at the imminent peril of his life, from the
bridge which spans the Illinois river just above the en-
trance to the lake, and had fished up a drowning child

Pi
me
A
a
aS
.
s

TA RE

Neeaegy

‘at-
1oli-
here
ged,
auxa-
Ww Or
arti-
“dlers
. No
, and
ypted
st, he
SS10N
cperi-
elicit
»what
down
\sper-
at no
re he
1e cot

arcely
of dis-
re had
h that
gentle
casion
bm the

he en-
» child

pe MOUS ES

OS aa ate <

Gagtooth's Image. 59

Hrom tts depth sand borne tt to the shore in satety, In
doing so he had been compelled to swim through a swift
and strong current which would have swamped any swim-
mer with one particle less strength, endurance and pluck.
At another time, hearing his landlady say, at dinner, that
an execution was in the house of a sick man with a large
family, at the other end of the town, he left his dinner un-
touched, trudged off to the place indicated, and—though
the debtor was an utter stranger to him—paid off the
debt and costs in full, without taking any assignment of
the judgment or other security. Then he went quietly
back to his work. From my knowledge of the worthless
and impecunious character of the debtor, | am of opinion
that Fink never received a cent in the way of reimburse-
ment,

In personal appearance he was short and stout. His
ave, When I tirst knew him, must have been somewhere in
the neighbourhood of thirty-five. The only peculiarity
about his face was an abnormal formation of one of his
front teeth, which protruded, and stuck out almost hori-
zontally. This, as may be supposed, did not tend to im-
prove an expression of countenance which in other re-
spects was not very prepossessing. One of the anvil-
strikers happening to allude to him one day in his absence
by thename of “ Gagtooth,” the felicity of the sobriquet
at once commended itself to the good taste of the other
hands in the shop, who thereafter commonly spoke of him
by that name, and eventually it came to be applied to him
by every one in the town.

My acquaintance with him began when I had been in
Peoria abouta week. I may premise that I am a phy-

60 Gagtooth's Sinage

sician and surveon-—a eraduate of Harvard. Peoria was at
that time a comparatively new place, but it gave promise
of going ahead rapidly ; a promise, by the way, which it
has since amply redeemed. Messrs. Gowanlock and Van
Duzer’s foundry was a pretty extensive one for a small
town in a comparatively new district. They kept about
a hundred and fifty hands employed all the year round,
and ducing the busy season this numbe: was more than
doubled, It was in consequence of my having received
the appointment of medical attendant to that establish-
ment that 1 buried myself in the west, instead of settling
down in my native State of Massachusetts.

Poor Gagtooth was one of iny first surgical patients.
It came about in this wise. At the foundry, two days in
the week, viz., Tuesdays and Fridays, were chiefly de-
voted to what is called “casting.” On these days it was
necessary to convey large masses of melted iron, in vessels
specially manufactured for that purpose, from one end of
the moulding shop to the other. It was, of course, very
desirable that the metal should not be allowed to cool
while in transit, and that as little time as possible should
be lost in transferring it from the furnace to the moulds.
For this purpose Gagtooth’s services were frequently
called into requisition, as he was by far the strongest man
about the place, and could without assistance carry one
end of one of the vessels, which was considered pretty

good work for two ordinary men.

Well, one unlucky Friday afternoon he was hard at
work at this employment, and as was usual with all the
hands in the moulding shop at such times, he was strip-
ped naked from the waist upwards. He was gallantly

Sabb icenity A ae

ER BE SESE 3p

3 at
Lise
1 it
Van
nall
out
ind,
han
ved
lish-
ling

ants.
7s in

de-
was
ssels
d of
very
cool
pould
ulds.
ently
man
y one
retty

rd at
ll the
strip-
antly

ot Aa ee Bag

Gagtooth’s [mage. O|

supnorting one end of one of the large receptacles already
mentioned, which happened to be rather fuller than usual
of the red-hot molten metal. He had nearly reached the
moulding-box into which the contents of the vessel were
to be poured, when he stumbled against a piece of scant-
ling which was lying in his way. He fell, and as a neces-
sary consequence his end of the vessel fell likewise, spill-
ing the contents all over his body, which was literally
deluged by the red, hissing, boiling liquid fire. It must
have seemed to the terror-stricken onlookers like a bath
of blood.

Further details of the frightful accident, and of my
treatment of the case, might be interesting to such of the
readers of this book as happen to belong to my own pro-
fession; but to general readers such details would be
sinply shocking, How even his tremendous vitality and
vigour of constitution brought him through it all is a
mystery to me to this day. [am thirty-six years older
than | was at that time. Since then I have acted as
surgeon toa fighting regiment all through the creat re-
bellion, TP have had patients of all sorts of temperaments
and constitutions under my charge, but never have |
been brought into contact with a case which seemed more
hopeless in my eyes. He must surely have had more than
one life in him. I have never had my hands on so mag-
niticent a specimen of the human frame as his was; and
better still—and this doubtless contributed materially to
his recovery—I have never had a case under my manage-
ment where the patient bore his sufferings with such uni-
form fortitude and endurance. Suttice it to say that he
recovered, and that his face hore no traces of the frightful

‘ or
O62 Gagt WHS [Mage £

ordeal through which he had passed. [I don’t think he
was ever quite the same man as before his accident. I
think his nervous system received a shock which eventu-
ally tended to shorten his life. But he was still known
as incomparably the strongest man in Peoria, and con-
tinued to perform the work of two men at the moulding-
shop on casting days. In every other respect he was ap-
parently the same; not a whit more disposed to be eom-
panionable than k "ure his aecident. I used frequently
to meet him on the street, as he was goine to and fro
between his boarding-house and the work-shop. He was
always alone, and more than once [ came to a full stop
and enquired after his health, or anything else that
seemed to afford a feasible topic for conversation. He
was uniformly civil, and even respectful, but contined his
remarks to replying to my questions, which, as usual, was
done in the fewest words.

During the twelve months sueceeding his recovery, so
far as I am aware, nothing occurred worthy of being re-
corded in Gagtooth’s annals. About the expiration of
that time, however, his landlady, by his authority, at his
request, and in his presence, nade an announcement to
the boarders assembled at the dinner-table which, I should
think, must literally have taken away their breaths.

Gagtooth was going to be married !

I don’t suppose it would have occasioned greater aston-
ishment if it had been announced as an actual fact that
The Illinois river had commenced to flow backwards,
It was surprising, ineredible, but, like many other surpris-

ing and ineredible things, it was true. Gagtooth was
really and truly about to marry, The object of his choice

was
Hoy
eno
all-i
pre}
hoa
thin
first
that
settl
a pi
wor
Peor
Luci
for a
edue
creat
all e
amo
SUSp
poor
In
at tl
dain
moor
run
towr
retir
Or?
fore

OCCU

r re-

1 of

his
t to
ould

ston-
that
ards.
Hpris-
was
hoice

Gagtu ths [mage. 63

was his landlady’s sister, by name Lucinda bowlsby.
llow or when the wooing had been carried on, how the
engagement had been led up to, and in what terms the
all-important question had been propounded, I ain not
prepared to say. I need hardly observe that none of the
hoarders had entertained the faintest suspicion that any-
thing of the kind was impending. The courtship, from
first to last, must have been somewhat of a piece with
that of the late Mr. Barkis. But alas! Gagtooth did not
settle his affections so judiciously, nor did he draw such
a prize in the matrimonial lottery as Barkis did. Two
women more entirely dissimilar, in every respect, than
Pegeotty and Lucinda bowlsby can hardly be imagined.
Lucinda was nineteen years of age. She was pretty, and,
for a girl of her class and station in life, tolerably well
educated, But she was notwithstanding a light, giddy
creature—and, I fear, somethine worse, at that time, At
all events, she had a very questionable sort of reputation
amore the boarders in the house, and was regarded with
suspicion by everyone who knew anything about her
poor Gagtooth alone excepted.

In due time the wedding took place. — It was solemnized
at the boarding-house ; and the bride and bridegroom dis-
daining to defer to the common usage, spent their honey-
moon in their own house. Gagtooth had rented and
‘urnished a little frame dwelling on the outskirts of the
town, on the bank of the river; and thither the couple
retired as soon as the hymeneal knot was tied. Next
morning the bridegroom made his appearance at his
forge and went to work as usual, as though nothing had
occurred to disturb the serenity of his life.

i)

|
ik
|
i

O4 Cra . tooth JS fina <

Time passed by. Rumours now and then reached my
ears to the effeet that Mrs. Fink was not behaving herself
very well, and that she was leading her husband rather a
hard life of it. She had been seen driving out into the
country with a young lawyer from Springtield, who ocea-
sionally came over to Peoria to attend the sittings of
the Distriet Court. She moreover had the reputation of
habitually indulging in the contents of the cup that
cheers and likewise inebriates. However, in the regular
course of things, [ was called upon to assist at the first
appearance upon life's stage of a little boy, upon whon his
parents bestowed the name of Charlie.

The night of Charlie’s birth was the first time I had
ever been in the house, and if | remember aright it was
the first time I had ever set eyes on Mrs. Fink sinee her
marriave, [was not lone in making up any mind about
her; and [ had ample opportunity for forming an opinion
as to her character, for she was unable to leave her bed
for more than a month, during which time I was in at-
tendanee upon her almost dairy. [also attended little
Charhe through measels, scarlet-rash, whooping-cough,
and all his childish ailments ; and in fact [ was a pretty
revular visitor at the house from the time of his birth
until his father left the neighbourhood, as [shall presently
have to relate. I believe Mrs. Fink to have been not
merely a profligate woman, but a thoroughly bad and

heartless one in every respect. She was perfectly indif-
ferent to her husband, whom she shamefully negleete |, and
almost indifferent to her child. She seemed to care for
nothing in the world but dress and strong waters ; and to
procure these there Was ho depth of degradation to whiel:

she would not stoop.

SACRA ect 5

was
dea,
His
Cup
plex
day
part
mak
mot]
Saw
whi
Char
stout
over
Whe
his fi
smol
trast
Cupi
anno

had
was
her
Out
niow
bed
at-
ittle
veh,
etty
arth
ntly
1 not
and
naift-
land
‘e for
nad to
vhich

Gagtooth’s Hage. 05

As a vesult of my constant professional attendance
upon his mother during the first month of little Charlie's
life, E became better acquainted with his father than any-
one in Peoria hadever done, He seemed to know that I saw
into and sympathized with his domestic troubles, and my
silent sympathy seemed to afford him some consolation.
As the months and years passed by, his wife’s conduct
became worse and worse, and his affections centered them-
selves entirely upon his child, whom he loved witha pas-
sionate affection to which I have never scen a parallel.

And Charlie was a child made to be loved, When he
was two years old he was beyond all comparison ‘ie
dearest and most beautiful little fellow L have ever seen.
His fat, plump, chubby little figure, modelled after
Cupid’s own; his curly tlaxen hair; his matchless com-
plexion, fair and clear as the sky on a sunny suminer
day ; and his bright, round, expressive eyes, which im-
parted intelligence to his every feature, combined to
make him the idol of his father, the envy of all the
mothers in town, and the admiration of every one who
saw him. At noon, when the great foundry-bell rang,
which was the signal for the workmen to go to dinner
Charlie might regularly be seen, toddling as fast as his
stout little legs could spin, along the footpath leading
over the common in the direction of the workshops.
When about halfway across, he would be certain to meet
his father, who, taking the child up in his bare, brawny,
the con-

smoke-begrimed arms, would carry him home
trast between the two strongly suggesting Vulcan and
Cupid. At six o'clock in the evening, when the bell
announced that work was over for the day, a similar

D

Se eae car, a ee ees
Lae ime A fit eias

eS

SS ree ie a ee

SRT

66 Gagtooth’s Image.

little drama was enacted. It would be difhicult to say
whether Vulcan or Cupid derived the greater amount of
pleasure from these semi-daily incidents, After tea, the
two were never separate for a moment. While the
mother was perhaps busily engaged in the perusal of
some worthless novel, the father would sit with his dar.
ling on his knee, listening to his childish prattle, and
perhaps so far going out of himself as to tell the child a
little story. It seemed to be an understood thing that
the mother should take no care or notice of the boy dur-
ing her husband’s presence in the house. Regularly,
when the clock on the chimney-piece struck eight,
Charlie would jump down from his father’s knee and run
across the room for his night-dress, returning to his father
to have it put on. When this had been done he would
kneel down and repeat a simple little prayer, in which
One who loved little children like Charlie was invoked
to bless father and mother and make him a good boy ;
after which his father would place him in his little erib,
where he soon slept the sleep of happy childhood,

My own house was not far from theirs, and I was so
fond of Charlie that it was no uncommon thine for me
to drop in upon them for a few minutes, when returning
from my oftice in the evening. Upon one occasion |
noticed the child more particularly than usual while he
was in the act of saying his prayers. His eyes were
closed, his plump little hands were clasped, and his cher-
ubic little face was turned upwards with an expression
of infantile trustfulness and adoration which I shall never
forget. I have never seen, nor do I ever expect to see,
anything else half so beautiful. When he arose from his

to

mu
the
tha
to ¢
to f
und
requ
that
of a

slong
to o1
and
little
seen
art Ww
who

at
i
ly,
ht,
un
her
uld
ich
ced
Oy ;
rib,

s SO
me
ing
yn |
e he
vere
her-
;s10n
ever
) See,
1 his

Gagtooth's lmage. 67

knees and came up to me to say “Good Night,” L kissed
his upturned little face with even greater fervour than
usual, After he had been put to bed L mentioned the
matter to his father, and said something about my regret
that the child’s expression had not been caught by a
sculptor and fixed in stone.

I had little idea of the effeet my remarks were destined
to produce. A few evenings afterwards he informed ime,
much to my surprise, that he had determined to act upon
the idea which my words had sugvested to his mind, and
that he had instrueted Heber Jaekson, the marble-cutter,
to go to work at a “stone likeness” of little Charlie, and
to finish it up as soon as possible. He did not seem to
understand that the proper performance of such a task
required anything more than mere mechanical skill, and
that an ordinary tomb-stone cutter was scarcely the sort
of artist to do justice to it.

However, when the “ stone-likeness ” was finished and
sent home, I confess I was astonished to see how well
Jackson had succeeded. He had not, of course, caught
the child’s exact expression. It is probable, indeed, that
he never saw the expression on Charlie’s face, which had
seemed so beautiful to me, and which had suggested to me
the idea of its being “embodied in marble,” as the protes-
sionals call it. But the image was at all events, according
to order, a “likeness.” The true lineaments were there
and I would have recognised it for a representation of my’
little friend at the first glance, wherever I might have
seen it. In short, it was precisely one of those works of
art which have no artistic value whatever for any one
who is unacquainted with, or uninterested in, the subject

EE Ss me

ere ee Ts

ee Rk

—~

68 Gagtooth’s Image.

represented > but knowing and loving little Charlie as |
did, | confess that T used to contemplate Jackson's piece
of workmanship with an admiration and enthusiasin
which the contents of Italian gallaries have failed to
arouse In me.

Well, the months flew by until some time in the spring
of 1855, when the town was electrified hy the sudden and
totally unexpected failure of Messrs. Gowanlock and Van-
Duzer, who up to that time were currently reported to be
one of the wealthiest and most thriving firms in the
State. Their failure was not only a great misfortune for
the workmen, who were thus thrown out of present em-
ployment—for the creditors did not carry on the business
—but was regarded as a public calamity to the town and
neighbourhood, the prosperity whereof had been enhanced
in no inconsiderable degree by the carrying on of so ex-
tensive an establishment in their midst, and by the enter-
prise and energy of the proprietors, both of whom were
first-rate business men, The failure was in no measure
attributed either to dishonesty or want of prudence on the
part of Messrs. Gowanlock and VanDuzer, but simply to
the invention of a new patent which rendered valueless
the particular agricultural implement which constituted
the specialty of the establishment, and of which there
was an enormous stock on hand. ‘There was not the sha-
dow of a hope of the firm being able to get upon its legs
again, The partners surrendered everything almost to
the last dollar, and shortly afterwards left Illinois for
California.

Now, this failure, which more or less affected the entire
population of Peoria, was especially disastrous to poor

Fir
Me
libe
Wol
The
wer
redt
satis
the
the
bt
knoy
whic
Of
the
ever,
him,
with
fathe
fectic
mone
ploye
did y
of eor
in an
band
with
pect
Sh
arm-¢
for lif

ng
nid
ali-
be
the
for
Clli-
1ess
and
iced
eX-
iter-
vere
sure
» the
ly to

less
uted
here
sha-

legs
bt to
5 for

ntire
poor

Gav looth’s Mage. 69

Fink. For past years he had been saving money, and as
Messrs. Gowanlock and VanDuzer allowed interest at a
liberal rate upon all deposits left in their hands by their
workmen, all his surplus earnings remained untouched,
The consequence was that the accumulations of years
were swamped at one fell swoop, and he found himself
reduced to poverty. And as though misfortune was not
satisfied with visiting him thus heavily, une very day of
the failure he was stricken down by typhoid fever: not
the typhoid fever known in Canada—which is bad enough
—but the terrible putrid typhoid of the west, which is
known nowhere else on the face of the globe, and in
which the mortality in some years reaches forty per cent,
Of course I was at once called in, I did my best for
the patient, which was very little. I tried hard, how-
ever, to keep his wife sober, and to compel her to nurse
him judiciously. As for little Charlie, | took him home
with me to my own house, where he remained until his
father was so far convalescent as to prevent all fear of in-
fection. Meanwhile I knew nothing about Gagtooth’s
money having been deposited in the hands of his em-
ployers, and consequently was ignorant of his loss. I
did not learn this circumstance for weeks afterwards, and
of course had no reason for supposing that his wife was
in anywise straitened for money. Onee, when her hus-
band had been prostrated for about a fortnight, I saw her
with a roll of bank notes in her hand. Little did I sus-
pect how they had been obtained,
Shortly after my patient had beeun to sit up in his
arm-chair for a little while every day, he begged so hard
for little Charlie’s presence that, as soon as L was satisfied

pre ae

.
RES Nab caren

Saas

ed

”

ae

eS rons
coe fis?

ee

CRA CRT eT

sab

i.

.
i
;
x}
i
¥
*)

Patel eae

a

~ : J.’ -
/V Gagtovoth s Mase

that all danger of infection was past, I consented to allow
the child to return to his own home. In less than a
month afterwards the invalid was able to walk out in the
garden for a few minutes every day when the weather was
favourable, and in these walks Charlie was his constant
companion. ‘The affection of the poor fellow for his flaxen-
haired darling was manifested in every glance of his eye,
and in every tone of his voice. He would kiss the little
chap and pat him on the head a hundred times a day. He
would tell him stories until he himself was completely
exhausted ; and although | knew that this tended to re-
tard his complete recovery, [ had not the heart to forbid
it. Ihave often since felt thankful that I never made
any attempt to do so,

At last the fifteenth of September arrived. On the
morning of that day Messrs. Rockwell and Dunbar’s Com-
bined Circus and Menagerie made a triumphal entry into
Peoria, and was to exhibit on the green, down by the river
bank. The performance had been ostentatiously adver-
tised and placarded on every dead wall in town for a
month baek, and all the children in the place, little Charlie
included, were wild on the subject. Signor Martigny was
to enter a den containing three full-grown lions, and was
to go through the terrific and disgusting ordeal usual on
such occasions. Gagtooth, of course, was unable to go;
but, being unwilling to deny his child any reasonable
pleasure, he had consented to Charlie’s going with his
mother. I happened to be passing the house on my way
homewards to dinner, just as the pair were about to

start, and called in to say good-bye tomy patient. Never
shall [ forget the embrace and the kiss which the father

di

Sa

the
chi
onl
OO
odd
A
the
see
sat
nev

time
and
hefe
that
lc’
lish
acre
free
tral
pert

cnor

ra
rlie
was
was

on
go ;
able
his
way
t to

ever
ther

Gagtooth's Image. a1

bestowed upon the little fellow. I can see them now,
after all these years, almost as distinctly as I saw them
on that terrible fifteenth of September, 1854. They per-
fectly clung to each other, and seemed unwilling to part
even for the two or three hours during which the perform-
anee was to last. I can see the mother too, impatiently
waiting in the doorway, and telling Charlie that if he
didn’t stop that nonsense they would be too late to see
Sampson killing the lion, She—Heaven help her !—
thought nothing and cared nothing about the pleasure the
child was to derive from the entertainment. She was
only anxious on her own account ; impatient to shew her
cood looks and her cheap finery to the two thousand and
odd people assembled under the huge tent.

At last they started. Gagtooth got up and walked to
the door, following them with his eye as far as he could
see them down the dusty street. Then he returned and
sat down in his chair. Poor fellow! he was destined
never to see either of them alive again.

Notwithstanding her fear lest she might not arrive in
time for the commencement of the performance, Mrs. Fink
and her charge reached the ground at least half an hour
hefore the ticket office was opened; and I regret to say
that that half hour was sufficient to enable her to form an
acquaintance with one of the property men of the estab-
lishment, to whom she contrived to make herself so
agreeable that he passed her and Charlie into the tent.
free of charge. She was not admitted at the front en-
trance, but from the tiring-room at the back whence the
performers enter, She sat down just at the left of this
entrance, lmiuediately adjoining the lion’s cage. Ere long

. ny
7 y Gagtlooth J [mage.

the performance commenced, Signor Martigny, when his

turn came, entered the cage as per announcement; but
he was not long in dise’. ering by various signs not to be
mistaken that his charges were in no humour to he played
with on that day. Even the ring master from his place
in the centre of the ring, perceived that old King of the
Forest, the largest and most vicious of the lions, was med-
itating mischief, and called to the Signor to come out of
the cage. The Signor, keeping his eye steadily fixed on
the brute, began a retrograde movement from the den,
He had the door open, and was swiftly backing through,
when, with a roar that seemed to shake the very earth,
old King sprang upon him from the opposite side of the
cage, dashing him to theground like a ninepin, and rushed
through the aperture into the crowd. Quick as lightning
the other two followed, and thus three savave lions were
loose and unshackled in the midst of upwards of two thou-
sand men, women and children.

I wish to linger over the details as briefly as possible.
[am thankful to say that [ was not present, and that I
am unable to deseribe the occurrence from personal ob-
servation.

Poor little Charlie and his mother, sittine close to the
cage, were the very first victims. The child himself, I
think, and hope, never knew what hurt him. His skull
was fractured by one stroke of the brute’s paw. Signor
Martigny escaped with his right arm slit into ribbons, Big
Joe Pentland, the clown, with one well-directed stroke of
a crowbar, smashed Old King of the Forest’s jaw into a
hundred pieces, but not before it had closed in the left
breast cf Charlie’s mother, She lived for nearly an hour

is
it
-
id
CS
ie
ic
of
OL
on.
rh,
th,
the
ed
ing
ere

OU

ble.
it I
ob-

the
ae
Kull
mor

31g
e of
to a
left
10ur

. yy
Gasgtoolh A) [Mage. 73

afterwards, but never uttered a syllable. T wonder if

she was conscious. I wonder if it was permitted to her
to realize what her sin—for sin it must have been, in econ-
templation, if not indeed—had brought upon herself and
her child. Hadshe paid her way into the circus, and
entered in front, instead of coquetting with the property-
man, she would have been sitting under a different part of
the tent, and neither she nor Charlie would have sustain-
ed any injury, for the two younger lions were shot before
they had leapt ten paces from the eage door, Old King
was easily despatched after Joe Pentland’s tremendous.
blow. Pesides Charlie and his mother, two men and one
woman were killed on the spot: another woman died
next day from the injuries received, and several other
persons were more or less severely hurt.

Immediately after dinner [ had driven out into the
country to pay a professional visit, so that I heard noth-
ing about what had occurred until some hours afterwards.
I was informed of it, however, before IT reached the town,
on my way homeward. ‘To say that I was inexpressibly
shocked and grieved would merely be to repeat avery
stupid platitude, and to say that I was a human being.
| had learned to love poor little Charlie almost as dearly
as [ loved my own children, And his father—what would
he the consequence to him ?

I drove direct to his house, which was filled with people
—neighbours and others who had called to administer
such consolation as the circumstances would admit of. I
am not ashamed to confess that the moment my eyes rest-
ed upon the bereaved father T burst into tears. He sat
with his child’s body in his lap, aud seemed literally

«

Sie a en to
SL enc STR Th ROE

74 Gagtooth’s Image.

transformed into stone. A breeze came in through the
open doorway and stirred his thin iron-gray locks, as he
sat there in his arm chair. He was unconscious of every-
thing—even of the presence of strangers. His eyes were
fixed and glazed. Not asound of any kind, not even a
moan, passed his lips ; and it was only after feeling his
pulse that I was able to pronounce with certainty that he
was alive. One single gleam of animation overspread
his features for an instant when I gently removed the
ccushed corpse frora his knees, and laid it on the bed, but
he quickly relapsed into stolidity. I was informed that
he had sat thus ever since he had first received the corpse
from the arms of Joe Pentland, who had brought it home
without chanving his clown’s dress. Heaven grant that
[ may never look upon such a sight again as the poor,
half-recovered invalid presented during the whole of that
night and for several days afterwards.

For the next three days I spent ail the time with him
I possibly could, for I dreaded either a relapse of the
fever or the loss of his reason. The neighbours were very
kind, and took upon themselves the burden of everything
connected with the funeral. As for Fink himself, he
seemed to take everything for granted, and interfered
with nothing. When the time arrived for fastening
down the coftin lids, | could not bear to permit that
ceremony to be performed without affording him an
opportunity of kissing the dead lips ef his darling for the
last time. I gently led him up to the side of the bed
upon which the two coftins were placed. At sight of his
little boy’s dead face, he fainted, and before he revived |
had the lids fastened down. It would have been cruelty

to subject him to the ordeal a second time.

are

at
rat
pse
me
lat

or,
hat

iim
the
ery
ing

he
‘red
ling
that

an
the
bed
P his
ed |
elty

Gagtooth's linage. 75

The day after the funeral he was sufficiently recovered
from the shock to be able to talk. He informed me that
he had concluded to leave the neighbourhood, and request-
ed me to draw up a poster, advertising all his furniture
and effects for sale by auction. He intended, he said, to
sell everything except Charlie’s clothes and his own, and
these, together with a lock of the child’s hair and a few
of his toys, were all he intended to take away with him.

“ But of course,” [ remarked, “ you don’t intend to sell
the ‘stone likeness ?”

He 'ucked at me rather strangely, and made no reply.
I glanced around the room, and, to my surprise, the little
statue was nowhere to be seen. It then occurred to me
that I had not noticed it since Gagtooth had been taken
ill,

“By the by, where is it?” I enquired —“ J don’t see
it.”

After a moment’s hesitation he told me the whoie
story. It was then that I learned for the first time that
he had lost all his savings through the failure of Messrs,
Gowanlock and Van Duzer, and that the morning when
he had heen taken ill there had been only a dollar in the
house. On that morning he had acquainted his wife
with his loss, but had strictly enjoined secrecy upon her,
as both Gowanlock and Van Duzer had promised him
most solemnly that inasmuch as they regarded their in-
debtedness to him as being upor a different footing from
their ordinary liabilities, he should assuredly be paid in
full out of the first money at their command. He had
implicit reliance upon their word, and requested me to
take charge of the money upon its arriva., and to keep it

wy

70 Gagtooth’s [Mase ‘

until he instrueted me, by post or otherwise, how to
dispose of it. To this I, of course, consented. The rest
of the story he could only repeat upon the authority of
his wife, but I have no reason for dishelieving any por-
tion of it. It seems that a day or two after his illness
commenced, and after he had beeome insensible, his wife
had been at her wits’ end for money to provide neces-
saries for the house, and I dare say she spent more for
liquor than for necessaries, She declared that she had
made up her mind to apply to me for a loan, when a
stranger called at the house, attracted, as he said, hy the
little image, which had been placed in the front window,
and was thus visible to passers by. He announced him-
selfas Mr. Silas Pomeroy, merchant, of Myrtle Street,
Sprinetield. He said that the face of the little image
strikingly reminded him of the faee of a child of his own
which had died some time before, He had not supposed
that the figure was a likeness of any one, and had
stepped in, upon the impulse of the moment, in the hope
that he might be able to purchase it. Ile was willing to
pay a liberal price, The negotiation ended in his taking
the image away with him, and leaving a hundred dollars
in its stead; on which sum Mrs. Fink had kept house

ever since. Her husband, of course, knew nothing of

this for weeks afterwards. When he began to vet better,
his wife had acquainted him with the facets. He had
found no fault with her, as he had determined to repur-
chase the image at any cost, so soon as he might be able
to carn money enough, As for getting a duplicate, that
was out of the question, for Heber Jaekson had been

earried off by the typhoid epidemic, and Charlie had

cha
had
p00
of |]
Wit
wo
and
plar
whe
Peol

I;
for $
pock
was

stom

orde)
crave
He
been
had ¢
knew
imag
had
great
or far
reaso)
away
Ga;
ing o1
up th
where

Gactooth's Tage. 77
o o 4/

chanved considerably during the fifteen months whieh
had elapsed since the image had been finished. And now
poor little Charlie himself was gone, and the wreat lesire
of his father’s heart was to regain possession of the image.
With that view, as soon as the sale should be over he
would start for Springtield, tell his story to Pomeroy,
and offer him his money back again, As to any further
plans, he did not know, he said, what he would do, or
where he would vo; but he would certainly never live in
Peoria again.

In a few days the sale took place, and Gagtooth started
for Springtield with about three hundred dollars in’ his
pocket. Springfield is seventy miles from Peoria, He
was to return in about ten days, by which time a tomb-
stone was to be ready for Charlie’s grave. He had not
ordered one for his wife, who was not buried in the same
grave with the child, but in one just beside him.

He returned within the ten days. His journey had
been a fruitless one. Pomeroy had become insolvent, and
had abseconded from Springfield a month before. No one
knew whither he had gone, but he must have taken the
image with him, as it was not among the effects which he
had left behind him. His friends knew that he was

greatly attached to the image, in consequence of its real
or fancied resemblance to his dead child. Nothing more
reasonable then than to suppose that he had taken it
away with him.

Gagtooth announced to me his determination of start-
ing on an expedition to find Pomeroy, and never giving
up the search while his money held out. He had no idea
where to look for the fugitive, but rather thought he

78 Gagtooth’s Image.

would try California tirst. He could hardly expect to re-

ceive any remittance from Gowanlock and Van Duzer for

some months to come, but he would acquaint me with his
address from time to time, and if anything arrived from
them | could forward it to him.

And so, having seen the tombstone set up over little
Charlie’s grave, he bade me good-bye, and that was the
last time I ever saw him alive.

There is little more to tell. I supposed him to be in
the far west, prosecuting his researches, until one night in
the early spring of the following year. Charlie and _ his
mother had been interred in a corner of the churchyard
adjoining the second Baptist Church, which at that time
was on the very outskirts of the town, in a lonely, un-
frequented spot, not far from the iron bridge. Late in
the evening of the seventh of April, 1856, a woman pass-
ing along the road in the cold, dim twilight, saw a bulky
object stretched out on Charlie's grave. She called at the
nearest house, and stated her belief that a man was lying
dead in the churchyard, Upon investigation, her surmise
proved to be correct.

And that man was Gagtooth.

Dead; partially, no doubt, from cold and exposure ;
but chiefly, I believe, from a broken heart. Where had he
spent the six months which had elapsed since I bade him
farewell ?

To this question Iam unable to reply ; but this much
was evident: he had dragged himself back just in time to
die on the grave of the little boy whom he had loved so
dearly, and whose brief existence had probably supplied
the one bright spot in his father’s life.

the
fey

|
plo
Por
the
nan
[a
wei
of t
ope)
Ima
lina

ULrer’

voy,
part

Gagtooth’s Image. 79

| had him buried in the same grave with Charlie ; and
there, on the banks of the Ilinois river, “ After life's fitful
fever he sleeps well.”

I never received any remittance from his former em-
ployers, nor did | ever learn anything further of Silas
Pomeroy. Indeed, so many years have rolled away since
the occurrence of the events above narrated ; years preg-
nant with great events to the American Republic ; events,
[am proud to say, in which [I bore my part: that the
wear and tear of life had nearly obliterated all memory
of the episode from my mind, until, as detailed in the
opening paravraphs of this story, I saw “ Gagtooth’s
Image,” from the top of a Thornhill omnibus. That
iinage is now in my possession, and no extremity less
urgent than that under which it was sold to Silas Pome-

roy, of Myrtle Street, Springfield, will ever induce me to

part with it.

ai

BEING

!

THE

vuuted House on Duchess Street,

BEING A NARRATION OF CERTAIN STRANGE EVENTS ALLEGED TO HAVE
TAKEN PLACE AT YORK, UPPER CANADA
THE YEAR 18235,

, IN OR ABOU

** (er all there hung the Shadow of a lear
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted ;

And said,‘as plain as whisper in the ear,
The place is haunted.’’-—ILoop,

I.—OUTSIDE THE HOUSE,

SUPPOSE there are at least a seore of per

sons living in Toronto at the present

moment who remember that queer old

house on Duchess street. Not that there

was anything specially remarkable about
aS, the house itself; which indeed, in its best
cA » days, presented an aspect of rather snue
QO)

\
y As respectability. But the events [am about
G to relate invested it with an evil reputa-
tion, and made it an object tu be contemplated at a sate
E

$2 The Hlauntca /louse On Duchess Strect.

distance, rather than from any near approach. Young-
sters on their way to school were wont to eye it askance
as they hurried by on their way to their daily tasks.
Even children of a larger growth manifested no unbe-
coming desire to penetrate too curiously into its inner
mysteries, and for years its threshold was seldom or
never crosse:t by anybody except Simon Washburn or
some of his clerks, who about once in every twelvemonth
made a quiet entry upon the premises and placed in the
front windows announcements to the effect that the place
was “For Sale or To Let.” The printing of these an-
nouncements involved a useless expenditure of capital,
for, from the time when the character of the house be-
came matter of notoriety, no one could be induced to try
the experiment of living in it. In_ the case of a house,
no less than in that of an individual, a bad name is more
easily gained than lost, and in the case of the house on
Duchess street its uncanny repute clung to it with a per-
sistent grasp which time did nothing to relax. It was
distinctly and emphatically a place to keep away from.
The house was originally built by one of the Ridout
family—I think by the Surveyor-General himself—soon
after the close of the war of 1812, and it remained intact
until a year or two after the town of York became the
city of Toronto, when it was partly demolished and con-
verted into a more profitable investment. The new
structure, which was a shingle or stave factory, was burn-
ed down in 1848 or 1844, and the site thenceforward
remained unoccupied until comparatively recent times.
When I visited the spot a few weeks since I encounter-
ed not a little difficulty in fixing upon the exact site

Wl
br
tin
ha
Ur
uni
squ
me}
in
the
brol
mys
desc
(quer
fact
the «
Tl
road
the 1
pick
by n
were
and ¢
tentic
fog y

the ej
since
buildi
consi
contai
stories

be-
ner
or
or
nth
the
lace
an-
ital,
be-
» try
ouse,

hore

yurn-
ward

The llaunted louse On Dn hess Street. 93

which is covered by an unprepossessingy row of dark red
brick, presenting the aspect of having stood there from
time immemorial, though as [ am informed, the houses
have been erected within the last quarter of a century,
Unattractive as they appear, however, they are the least
uninviting feature in the landseape, which is prosaic and
squalid beyond description. Rickety, tumble-down tene-
ments of dilapidated lath and plaster stare the beholder
in the face at every turn. During the greater part of
the day the solitude of the neighbourhood remains un-
broken save by the tread of some chance wayfarer like
myself, and a general atmosphere of the abomination of
desolation reigns supreme. Passing along the unfre-
quented pavement, one finds it difficult to realize the
fact that this was onee a not unfashionable quarter of
the capitai of Upper Canada.

The old house stood forty or fifty feet baek from the
roadway, on the north side, overlooking the waters of
the bay. The lot was divided from the street by a low
picket fence, and admission to the enclosure was gained
by means of a small gate. In those remote times there
were few buildings intervening between Duchess street
and the water front, and those few were not very pre-
tentious; so that when the atmosphere was free from
fog you could trace from the windows of the upper story
the entire hithermost shore of the peninsula which has
since become The Island. The structure itself, like most
buildings then erected in York, was of frame. It was of
considerable dimensions for those days, and must have
contained at least eight or nine rooms, It was two
stories high, and had a good deal of painted fret-work

Jesh EE

apes.
Ne ene ree teenie AR

ta 94 et: 4 ee ee
a ee ia - pee eso

nn aE SO SO ae EN

el

—

{
|
|
1

8 | The Hlaunted louse On Duchess Street,

about the windows of the upper story. A stately elm
stood immediately in the rear, and its wide-spreading
branches overshadowed the greater part of the back,yard
and outbuildings. And that is all I have been able to
learn about the exterior aspect of the place.

II.—INSIDE THE HOUSE.

SMALL poreh-door, about half way down the
western side, furnished the ordinary mode of
entrance to and exit from the house. This
door opened into an apartment which served
the double purpose of sitting-room and din-

Boy in-room, and which was connected by an
i ‘ner door with the kitchen and back premises.
There was, however, a rather wide-mouthed front entrance,
approached by a short flight of wooden steps, and open-
ine into a fair-sized hall. To the right of the hall, as
ae entered, a door opened into what served as a draw-
ing-room, which was seldom used, as the occupants of the
house were not viven to receiving much fashionable
company. ‘To the left of the hall, another door opened
into the dining-room already mentioned. <A. stairway,
facing the front entrance, conducted you to the upper
story, which consisted of several bed-rooms and a large
apartinent in front. This latter must have been by long
odds the pleasantest room in the house. It was of com-
fortable dimensions, well lighted, and cheerful as_ to its
outlook. Two front windows commanded a prospect of
the bay and the peninsula, while a third window on the

Ca

by
hee
hey
hes
tio
be
doo
lire
l
ture
they
resp

near

at fi

conne:
he wa
man |
part o
known

ened
way,

The Tlaunted Tlouse on Duchess Street.

eastern side overlooked the valley of the Don, which was
hy no means the stagnant pool which it was destined to
hecome in later years. The only entrance to this cham-
her was a door placed directly to the right hand at the
head of the stairway, which stairway, it may be men-
tioned, consisted of exactly seventeen steps. A small
bedroom in the rear was accessible only by a separate
door at the back of the upper hallway, and was thus not
direetly connected with the larger apartment.

[ am not informed as to the precise number and fea-
tures of the other rooms in the upper story, except that
they were bedrooms; nor is any further information

respecting them essential to a full comprehension of the

narrative. Why I lave been so precise as to what may
at first appear trivial details will hereafter appear.

Ii—THE TENANTS OF THE HOUSE,

S already mentioned, the house was probably
built by Surveyor-General Ridout; Fut it
does not appear that either he or any mem-
ber of his family ever resided there. The
earliest occupant of whom [ have been able

to find any trace was Thomas Mercer Jones

the gentleman, I presume, who was afterwards
connected with the Canada Land Company. Whether
he was the first tenant | am unable to say, but a gentle-
man bearing that name dwelt there during the latter
part of the year 1816, and appears to have been a well-
known citizen of Little York. In 1519 the tenant was a

Sm : TS pea ee
Fi oe Eat oes + Dk Sake Pa
a = ees baa Ps a

Sse

}
ia

oo Th Ila nted Tous: / Dy I SY Svecl

person named MeKechnie, as to whom [have been unable
to glean any information whatever beyond the bare fact
that he was a pewholder in St. James's chureh. He
appears to have given place to one of the numerous mem-
bers of the Powell family.

But the occupant with whom this narrative is more
immediately concerned was a certain ex-military man
named Bywater, who woke up the echoes of York society
for a few brief months, between sixty and seventy years
ago, and who, after passing a lurid interval of his mis-
spent life in this community, solved the great problem of
human existence by falling down stairs and breaking his
neck, Captain Stephen Bywater was a mauris sujet of
the most pronounced stamp. He came of a good family
in one of the Midland Counties of Kneland: entered the
army at an early age, and was present ©» a certain mem-
orable Sunday at Waterloo, on which occasion he is said
to have borne himself gallantly and well. But he ap-
pears to have had a deep vein of ingrained vice in his
composition, which perpetually impelled him to crooked
paths. Various ugly stories were current about him, for
all of which there was doubtless more or less foundation.
It was said that he had been caught cheating at play,
and that he was an adept in all the rascalities of the turf.
The deplorable event which led to the resignation of his
commission made considerable noise at the time of its

occurrence, A young brother officer whom he had
swindled out of large sums of money, was forced by him
into a duel, which was fought on the French coast, in the
presence of two seconds anda military surgeon. There
seems to have been no doubt that the villainous captain

fir
in

on
fol
enc
not
cou
eve
anc
clus
was
hee:
he ¢
ada,
cam
A
have
Capt
He \

very

selee
Came
had ‘
the s
being

but it
good
to res
not t«

1ore
nan
jety
ears
inls-
m of
x his
et of
mily
1 the
nem-

The Hau ted House on Duchess Street, 87

fired too soon, At any rate, the youth who had been
inveigled into staking his life on the issue was left dead
on the field, while the aggressor rode off unscathed,
followed by the execrations of his own second. A rigid
enquiry was instituted, but the prince’ sal witnesses were
not forthcoming, and the murderer—tor as such he was

commonly regarded—escaped the punishment which

everybody considered he had justly merited. The sever-
ance of his connection with the army was a foregone con-
clusion, and he was formally expelled from his club. He
was socially sent to Coventry, and his native land soon
became for him a most undesirable place of abode, Then
he crossed the Atlantic and made his way to Upper Can-
ada, where, after a while, he turned up at York, and be-
came the tenant of the house on Duchess street.

At the time of his arrival in this country, which must
have been some time in 1822, or perhaps early in 1823,
Captain Bywater was apparently about forty years of age.
He was a bachelor and possessed of some means. For a
very brief period he contrived to make his way into the
select society of the Provincial capital; but it soon be-
came known that he was the aristocratic desperado who
had so ruthlessly shot down young Remy Errington on
the sands near Boulogne, and who had the reputation of
being one of the most unmitigated scamps who ever wore
uniform. York society in those days could swallow a
good deal in a man of good birth and competent fortune,
but it could not swallow even a well-to-do bachelor of
good family and marriageable age who had been forced
to resign his commission, and had been expelled from a
not too straight-laced London club, by a unanimous vote

panei 5 ae

88 The Haunted House on Duchess Street.

of the committee, Captain Bywater was dropped with a
suddenness and severity which he could not fail to under-
stand. He received no more invitations from mothers
with marriageable daughters, and when he presented him-
sented himself at their doors informally and forbidden he
found nobody at home. Ladies ceased to recognise him
on the street, and gentlemen received his bows with a
response so frigid that he readily comprehended the state
of affairs. He perceived that his day of grace was past,
and accepted his fate with a supercilious shrug of his
broad shoulders,

But the Captain was a gregarious animal, to whom sol-
itude was insupportable. Society of some sort was a ne-
cessity of his existence and as the company of ladies and
gentlemen, was no longer open to him, he sought consola-
tion amone persons of a lower grade in the social scale.
He began to frequent bar-rooms and other places of public
resort, and as le was free with his money he had no difh-
culty infindling companions of a certainsort who were ready
and willing enough to drink at his expense, and to listen
to the hraggadocio tales of the doughty deeds achieved by
him during his campaign in the Peninsula. In a few
weeks he found himself the acknowledged head and frort
of a little coterie which assembled nightly at the George
fnn, on King street, This, however, did not last long, as
the late potations and ribald carousings of the company
disturbed the entire neighborhood, and attracted atten-
tion to the place. The landlord received a stern admoni-

tion to keep earlier hours and less uproarious guests,

When Boniface sought to carry this admonition into eftect

Captain Bywater mounted his high horse, and adjourned

wl
Sti

Lhe Flaunt ad Hlouse Hl Dave fess 7 livcel Og

to his own place, taking his tive or six boon companions

with him. From that time forward the house on Duchess
street was the recular place of meeting.

IV.—THE ORGIES IN THE HOUSE,
P| APTAIN Bywater, upon his first arrival at
York, hac taken up his quarters at a public
house. The York inns of the period had an
unenviable reputation, and were widely dif-
ferent from the (Queen’s and Rossin of the
present day, Some of my readers will doubtless

remember John Galt’s savage tling at them sev-

or
S
eral years later, To parody Dr. Johnson's characteri-
zation of the famous leg of mutton, they were ill-look-
ing, ill-smelling, ill-provided and ill-kept. In a word,
they were unendurable places of sojourn for a man of
fastidious tastes and sensitive nerves, Perhaps the
Captain’s tastes were fastidious, though I can hardly

he

believes that his nerves were sensitive. — Possibly
wished to furnish clear evidence that he was no mere
sojourner in a strange lanl, but that he had come here
with a view to permanent settleme:t. At all events his
stay atan inn was of brief duration, He rented the house
on Duchess street and furnished it ina style which for
those days might be ealled expensive, more especially for
a bachelor’s establishment. The greater part of the furni-
ture was sent up from Montreal, and the Captain pro-
claimed his intention of giving a grand house-warming

-_~

gO The Taunted louse on Duchess Street

at an early date. He had hardly become settled in the
place, however, before his character and antecedent life
became known, as already mentioned, and the project was
abandoned.

His household consisted of a man-servant named Jim
Summers, whom he had picked up at Montreal, and the
wife of the latter, who enjoyed the reputation of being an
excellent cook, in which capacity she was afterwards
employed at the Government House during the régime of
Sir John Colborne. At first this couple had a tolerably
easy time of it. The Captain was not exigeant, and
allowed them to run the establishment pretty much
as they chose. He always rose late, and went out im-
mediately after breakfast, accompanied by his large
Newfoundland dog Nero, the only living possession he
had brought with him from beyond the sea. Master and
doy were seen no more until dinner-time, which was five
o'clock. Between seven and eight in the evening the pair
would betake themselves to the George, where the Captain
drank and howled himself hoarse until long past midnight,
But he was a seasoned vessel, and generaily had pretty
fair control over his limbs. He could always find his way
home without assistance, and used to direct his man not
to wait up for him. The dog was his companion whea-
ever he stirred out of doors.

But when the venue was changed from the tap-room of
the George Inn to the Captain’s own house, the troubles
of Jim Summers and his wife began. The guests com-
monly arrived within a few minutes of each other, ail
were all in their places by eight o'clock. They met in the

large upper room, and their sessions were prolonged far

in |
Jin
an
ane
ere
hig
ran
at ¢
ino:
spe
list
any
abl

I
nei,
hov

/ iT Tlauntcd llouse On Duchess Stree, (jt

into the night, or rather into the morning, for it hap-
pened often enough that daylight peeped in through
the eastern window and found the company. still undis-
persed. Ribald jests, drunken laughter and obscene
songs were kept up the whole night through. The
quantity of rum, whisky, brandy and beer consumed in
the course of a week must have been something to wonder

The refreshments were provided at the expense of
the host, and as it was Jim’s business to keep up the
sapply of spirits, lemons and hot water, le had no sinecure
on his hands. It might well be supposed that he might,
if so minded, have found a more congenial situation, but
asa matter of fact, he was not over scrupulous as to the
nature of his employment, and probably had his full share
of the fun. The Captain paid good wages, and was lavish
in gratuities when he was in good humor, On the whole

Jim considered that he had not such a bad place of it,

and was by no means disposed to quarrel with his bread
and butter. His wife took a different view of affairs, and
ere long refused to remain on the premises during the
nightly orgies. This difficulty was got over by an ar-
rangement whereby she was permitted to quit the house
at eight o'clock in the evening, returning on the following
morning in time to prepare the Captain’s breakfast. She
spent her nights with a married sister who lived a short
distance away, and by this means she avoided what to
any woman of respectability must have been an unbear-
able intliction,

The orgies, in process of time, became a reproach to the
neighborhood and a scandal to the town, They were,
however, kept up with few interruptions, for several

Qe / i launte d ae “Se Vl / dae Mi AYR Stree i.

months. More than one townsman declared that so intol-
| erable a nuisance must be abated, but no one liked to be
| the first to stir in such an unpleasant business, and the
hacchanalians continued to “vex with mirth the drowsy
| ear of night,” unchecked by more cleanly-living citizens.
But just about the time when these carousings had be-
come absolutely intolerable to the community, they were

\ put a stop to without any outside interference.

} V.. THE CATASTROPHE IN TILE HOUSE,

N a certain Sunday night, which was destined
to be memorable in the annals of the Duchess

street house, the number of Captain By-
OG waters guests was smaller than usual. They
consisted of only three persons :

1. Henry John Porter, an articled clerk in the
office of Simon Washburn. Mr. Washburn was a
well-known lawyer of those times, whose office was on
the corner of Duke and George streets. He acted pro
fessionally for the Ridout family, and had the letting
and sale of the Duchess street property. It was probably
through this circumstance that his clerk had become ac-
quainted with Captain Bywater.

2, James MeDougall, who was employed in some sub-
ordinate capacity in the Civil Service,

3. Alfred Jordan Pilkey, whose occupation seems to
i have been nothing in particular,

What had become of the other regular attendants does

not appear. Not only were the guests few in number

On

afi
as |

Jin
out
hin
tior
Opy
he)
as
of t

J
trar
hea
alor
chia
halt
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ed

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es

The llauntea /louse Oh Duchess Slreel, 4

on this particular evening, but the proceedings them-
selves seem to have been of a much less noisy character
than ordinary. It was noticed that the host was some-
What out of humor, and that he displayed signs of ill-
temper which were not usual with him, His demeanor
reflected itself upon his company, and the fun was neither
fast nor furious, In fact the time passed somewhat
dreavily, and the sederunt broke up at the unprecedent-
edly early hour of eleven o'clock. The man-servant saw
the company out, locked the door, and repaired to the
room up-stairs where his master still lingered, to see if
anything more was required of him,

The Captain sat in a large armehair by the tire, sipping
a tinal glass of grog. He seemed gloomy and dispirited,
as though he had something on his mind. In response to
Jim’s enquiry whether he wanted anything he growled
out: © No, go to bed, and be hanved bo you,” Jim took
him at his word, so far as the first clause of the injune-
tion was concerned. THe went to bed in his room on the
opposite side of the hallway. In passing through the hall
he perceived Nero lying asleep on the mat in front of his
master’s bedroom, which was the small room in the rear
of the large apartment where the meetings were held.

Jim had not been in bed many minutes and was in a
tranquil state between sleeping and waking, when he
heard his master emerge from the front room and pass
along the hallway, as though about to enter bis bed-
chamber. Another moment and be was roused from: his
half-somnolent condition by the hearing of the sharp re
port of a pistol shot, followed by a sound from Nero,

something between a moan and a howl, He sprang to

ais

O4 Th Tlaunted louse Ol Duchess SLC ip

the floor, but ere he could make his way into the hall he
was well-nigh stunned by hearing a tremendous crash, as
though some large body had been hurled violently down
the stairs from top to bottom. A vague thought of rob-
hers flashed through his brain, and he paused for a mo-
ment, as he himself atterwards admitted, half paralyzed
with fright. He called aloud upon his master and then
upon the dog, but received no response from either, The
erash of the falling body was succeeded by absolute sil-
ence. Pulling his nerves together he struck a match,
lighted his candle and passed in fear and trembling into
the hallway. The first sight that greeted his eyes was
the seemingly lifeless body of Nero lying stretched out at
the head of the stairs. Upon approaching the body he
found blood trickling from a wound in the poor brute’s
throat. One of the Captain’s pistols lay on the tloor, close
by. But where was the Captain himself? Shading his
eyes and holding the candle before him he peered foar-
fully down the stairway, but the darkness was too pro-
found to .dimit of his seeing to the bottom. By this time
a foreshadowing of the truth had made its way to his
understanding. He crept gingerly down the stairs, slowly
step by step, holding the candle far in advance, and anon
calling upon his master by name, He had passed more
than half the way down before he received full confirma-
tion of his forebodings,

There, lying at full length across the hallway, between
the foot of the stairs and the front door, was the body of
Remy Errington’s murderer, with the sinister, evil face
turned up to the ceiling. His left arm, still grasping a
candlestick, was doubled under him, and his body, in its

rou.

arou
wife
on h
Duel
Prite
ever,
that
woul
the \

The llauntcd louse O# Duchess Strect, Q5

impetuous descent, had torn away the lower portion of
the balustrade. The distraught serving-man raised the
head on his arm, and, by such means as occurred to him,
sought to ascertain whether any life still lingered there.
He could find no pulsation at the wrist, but upon apply-
ing his ear to the left side he fancied he could detect a
slight fluttering of the heart. Then he rushed to the
kitchen, and returned with a pitcher of water, which he
dashed in the prostrate face. As this produced no appar-
ent effect he ran back upstairs to his bedroom, threw on
part of his clothes, and made his way at full speed to the
house of Dr, Pritchard on Newgate street.

The doctor was a late bird, and had not retired to rest.
He at once set out for Duchess street, Jim Summers going
round by the house of his sister-in-law on Palace street. to
arouse his wife, who slept there. Upon receiving his
wife’s promise to follow him as soon as she could huddle
on her clothing, Jim van on tin advanee, and veached the
Duchess street house, only a minute or two later than Dr,
Pritchard, The doetor had been there long enough, how-
ever, to ascertain that the Captain’s neek was broken, ana
that he was where no human aid could reach him. He
would preside over no more orgies in the large room on
the upper story.

06 Lhe Haunted llouse on Duchess Street. '

i

}

} VIL—THE INQUEST IN TILE HOUSE.

oF GN TS

| Y A HERE was an inquest. That, under the eir-

| ie KS cumstances, Was @ matter of course, but noth-

i uf a ing of importance was elicited beyond what

| Yr BY |

| A245 has already been noted. Porter, Macdougal]

i ee) and Pilkey all attended, and gave evidence to

| ave the effect that Captain Bywater was tolerably

drunk when they left him at cleven, but that he

| Was upon the whole the most sober of the party and
appeared quite capable of taking care of himself. They
had noticed his uneongenial mood, but could afford no
conjecture as to the cause, It wa imp ssible to sus-

pec anything in the shape of foul play. The obvious
conclusion to be arrived at was that the Captain’s long cons
drinking bouts had produced their legitimate result, and tove
that at the moment when he met his death he was sutter- ther
ing from, or on the verge of delirium tremens, He gene- "
rally carried a loaded pistol in his breast pocket. He had Mr.
found the doe asleep on the mat before his bedechamber, it m
It was probably wsivcep, Or, at all event jot did not ha ten of y
to get out of his way, and in a moment of Insane fury or attai:
drunken stupidity he had drawn forth his weapon and Bi

shot the poor brute dead. He had just then been stand
ie near the Lop of the stairs. The quantity ot liquor iY
had drunk was suflicient to justify the conclusion that he
Wits Hot as steady on his pins as a sober man would have

been. He had over-balanced limself, aund—and that wa

F

The Haunted House on Duchess Street. Q7

the whole story, The coroner's jury brought in a ver-
dict in accordance with the facts, and the Captain's body
was put to bed with the sexton’s spade.

A will, drawn up in due form in the ottice of Mr, Wash-
burn, and properly signed and attested, had been made
hy the deceased a short time after taking possession of
the place on Duchess street. His fortune chietly consisted
of an income of five hundred pounds sterling per annum,
secured on real estate situated in Gloucestershire, Mne-
land. This income lapsed upon lis death, and it had thus
heen unnecessary bo make any testamentary provision

respecting it, except as to the portion which should ac-

crue between the last quarter-day and the death of the
testator, This portion was bequeathed to an elder bro-
ther residing in Gloucestershire, All the other property
of the deceased was bequeathed to Mr. Washburn, in
trust to dispose of such personal belongings as did not
consist of ready money, and to transmit the proceeds,
tovether with all the cash in hand, to the said elder bro-
ther in Gloucestershire,

The latter provisions were duly carried into effect by
Mr. Washburn within a few days after the funeral, and
it might well have been supposed that the good people
of York had heard the last of Captain Bywater and his
attairs.

But they hadn't.

9s Lh Hlaunt ad H (S¢ }l Du Ness Street.

VIL—THE BLACK DOG AND HIS MASTER.

[ the sale of Captain By water's effeets a por-
tion of the furniture belonging to the dining-

room, kitchen and one bedroom were pur

y] chased by Jim Summers, who, with his wife,
ae, continued to reside in the Duchess. street
no house pending the letting of it to a new ten-
ant. These temporary occupants thus lived in
three rooms, their sleeping apartment being on the upper
story at the northern side of the house, and on the Oppo-
site side of the hall trom the large room which had been
the scene of so much recent dissipation. All the rest
of the house was lett bare, and the doors of the unoeeu-
pied rooms were kept locked. Summers found employ-
ment as porter and assistant in Hammell’s grocery store,
but his wife was always on hand to show the premises to
anyone who might wish to see them,

All went on quictly until nearly a month after the
funeral, Mars. Summers had an easy time of it, as no in-
tending tenants presented themselves, and her only visi-
tor was her married sister, who occasionally dropped in
for an hour's chat. Jim was always at home by seven in
the evening, and the time glided by without anything
oecurring to disturb the smooth current of their lives.

But thisstate of things was not to be of longeontinuance,
One night when Mr, Washburn was busy over his briefs
in his stucly ut home he was disturbed hy A loud knoek-

ny
CV
th
for
on
as
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wh
lar
tur
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stre
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They
faste
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Lhe Tlaunted HTouse OM Duchess SXreel

ing at his front door, As it was nearly midnight, and as
everyone else in the house had retired to rest, he answered

the summons in person, Upon unfastening the door he
found Jim and his wife at the threshold. They were
only half dressed, and their countenances were colorless

as Pallida Mors. They stumbled impetuously into the
hall, and were evidently laboring under some tremendous
excitement, The lawyer condueted them into the study,
where they poured into his astonished ears a most singu-
lar tale.

Their story was to the effeet that they had been dis-
turbed for several nights previously by strange and inex-
plicable noises in the house oecupied by them on Duchess
strect. They had been aroused from sleep at indetermi-
nate hours by the sound of gliding footsteps just outside
of the door of their bedroom. Once they had distinetly
heard the sound of voices, which seemed to come from
the large front room across the hall. As the door of that
room was fast closed and locked, they had not been able
to distinguish the particular words, but they both declar-
ed that the voice was marvellously like that of Captain
Bywater, ‘hey were persons of fairly steady nerves, but
their situation, all things considered, was solitary and
peculiar, and they had not by any means relished these
unaccountable manifestations. On each occasion, how-
ever, they had controlled themselves sufficiently to insti-
tute a vigorous investigation of the premises, but had dis-
covered nothing to throw any light upon the subject,
They had found all the doors and the windows securely
fastened, and there was no sign of the presence of any-
thing or anybody to account for the gliding footsteps,

a ee Se eee

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1OO The Haunted Tlouse on Duchess Street.

They had unlocked anc. entered the front room, and found
it bare and deserted as it had been left ever since the re-
moval of the furniture after the sale. They had even
gone to the length of unlocking and entering every other
room in the house, but had found no elue to the mysteri-
ous sounds which had disturbed them, Then they had
argued themselves into the belicf that imagination had
imposed upon them, or that there was some natural but
undiscovered cause for what had occurred. They were
reluctant to make themselves the laughingstock of the
town by letting the idea get abroad that they were afraid
of ghosts, and they determined to hold their tongues.
But the manifestations had at last assumed a complexion
which rendered it impossible to pursue such a course any
longer, and they vehemently protested that they would
not pass another night in the accursed house for any bribe
that could be offered them.

They had spent the preceding evening at home, as
usual, and had gone to bed a little before ten o'clock.
The recent manifestations had probably left some linger-
ing trace upon their nerves, but they had no premonitions
of further experiences of the same character, and had
soon dropped asleep. They knew not how long they had
slept when they were suddenly and simultaneously ren-
dered broad awake by a succession of sounds which could
not possibly be explained by any reference to mere imagi-
nation. They heard the voice of their iate miaster as dis-
tinctly as they had ever heard it during his life. As
before, it emanated from the front room, but this time
there was no possibility of their being deceived, as
they caught not only the sound of his voice, but also

The Haunted House on Duchess Street. 10!

certain words which they had often heard from his lips
in bygone times. “ Don’t spare the liquor, gentlemen,”
roared the Captain, “there’s plenty more where that came
from. More sugar and lemon, you scoundrel, and be
handy there with the hot water.” Then was heard the
jingling of glasses and loud rappings as if made with the
knuckles of the hand upon the table. Other voices were
now heard joining in conversation, but too indistinetly
for the now thoroughly frightened listeners to cateh any
of the actual words. ‘There could, however, be no mis-
take. Captain Bywater had certainly come back from
the land of shadows and re-instituted the old orgies in
the old spot. The uproar lasted for at least tive minutes,
when the Captain gave one of his characteristic drunken
howls, and of a sudden all was still and silent as the
erave.

As might naturally have been expected, the listeners
were terror-stricken, Tora few moments after the cessa-
tion of the disturbance, they lay there in silent, open-
mouthed wonderment and fear. ‘Then, before they could
find their voices, their ears were assailed by a loud noise
in the hall below, followed by the muflled “ bow-wow ” of a
dog, the sound of which seemed to come from the landing
at the head of the stairway. Jim could stand the pres-
sure of the situation no longer. He sprang from the bed,
lighted a candle, and rushed out into the hall. This he
did, as he afterwards admitted, not because he felt brave,
but because he was too terrified to remain in bed, and
seemed to be impelled by a resolve to face the worst that
fate might have in store for him. Just as he passed from
the door into the hall, a heavy footstep was heard slowly

102 The Hlaunted House on Duchess Street.

ascending the stairs. He paused where he stood, candle
in hand, The steps came on, on, on, with measured tread.
A moment more and he caught sight of the ascending
figure. Horror of horrors! It was his late master—
clothes, cane and all—just as he had been in life; and at
the head of the stairs stood Nero, who gave vent to an-
other low bark of recognition. When the Captain reached
the landing place he turned halfway round, and the light
of the candle fell full on his face. Jim saw the whole
outline with the utmost clearness, even to the expression
in the eyes, which was neither gay nor sad, but rather
stolid and stern—just what he had been accustomed to
see there. The dog crouched back against the wall, and
after a brief halt near the stair-head, Captain Bywater
turned the knob of his bed-room door and passed in,
The dog followed, the door was closed, and once more all
was silent. Jim turned and encountered the white face
of his wife. She had been standing behind him all the
while, and had seen everything just as it had been pre-
sented to his own eyes. Moreover, impelled by some in-
ward prompting for which she could never account, she
had counted the footsteps as they had ascended the stairs.
Tney had been exactly seventeen !

The pair re-entered their room and took hurried coun-
sel together. They had distinctly seen the Captain turn
the knob and pass into his bed-room, followed by the
semblance of Nero. As they well knew, the door of that
room was locked, and the key was at that moment in the
pocket of Mrs. Summers’ dress. In sheer desperation
they resolved at all hazards to unlock the door and enter
the room, Mrs, Summers produced the key and handed

The Haunted House on Duchess Street. 102

PS

it to her husband. She carried the candle and accom-
panied him to the stair-head. He turned the lock and
pushed the door wide open before him, and both ad-
vanced into the room. It was empty, and the window
was found firmly fastened on the inside, as it had been
left weeks before.

They returned to their own bedroom, and agreed that
any further stay in such a house of horrors was not to be
thought of. Hastily arraying themselves in such cloth-
ing as came readily to hand, they passed down the stair-
way, unbolted the front door, blew out the light, and
made their way into the open air. Then they relocked
the door from outside and left the place. Their intended
destination was the house of Mrs. Summers’ sister, but
they determined to go round by Mr, Washburn’s and tell
him their story, as they knew he kept late hours and
would most likely not have gone to bed.

Mr. Washburn, stolid man of law though he was, could
not listen to such a narrative without preceptable signs
of astonishment. After thinking over the matter a few
moments, he requested his visitors to pass the night under
his roof, and to keep their own counsel for the present
about their strange experiences. As he well knew, if
the singular story got wind there would be no possibility
of finding another tenant for the vacant house. The cou-
ple acceded to the first request, and promised compliance
with the second. They were then shown to a spare room,
and the marvels of that strange night were at an end.

Next morning at an early hour the lawyer and the ex-
serving man proceeded to the Duchess street house.
Everything was as it had been left the night before, and

104 The Haunted [louse on Duchess Street.

solemnly attested to by Jim Summers and his spouse.
The perfect sincerity of the couple could not be doubted,
but Mr. Washburn was on the whole disposed to believe
| that they had in some way been imposed upon by de-

!
{
{
it . .
| no clue could be found to the mysterious circumstances so
/

i signing persons who wished to frighten them off the pre-
| muses, or that their imaginations had played they a seurvy
it trick. With a renewed caution as to silence he dismissed
them, and they thenceforth took up their abode in the ’
house of Mis. Summers’ sister on Palace street.
‘a Mr. and Mrs. Summers kept their mouths as close as,
| under the circumstances, could reasonably have been ex-
pected of them. But it was necessary to account in some
way for their sudden desertion of the Duchess street
house, and Mrs. Summers’ sister was of an inquisitive dis-
position. By degrees she succeeded in getting at most of
the facts, but to do her justice she did not proclaim them
from the housetops, and for some time the seeret was
pretty well kept. The story would probably not have
become generally known at all, but for a succession of
circumstances which took place when the haunted house
had been vacant about two months.
An American immigrant named Horsfall arrived at
York with a view of settling there and opening out a gen-
eral store. He was a man of family and of course re-

quired a house to live in. It so happened that the store I

rented to him on King street had no house atfached to it, whe

and it was therefore necessary for him to look out for a dog
i suitable place elsewhere. Hearing that a house on Duch- gar
1 ess street was to let, he called and went over the pre- had
i mises with Mr, Washburn, who naturally kept silent as ing,
i

The Haunted House on Duchess Street, 105

to the supernatural appearances which had driven the
Summerses from the door in the middle of the night. The
inspection proved satisfactory, and Mr. Horsfall took the
place for a year. His household consisted of his wife, two

grown-up daugiiters, a son in his fifteenth year, and a

black female servant. They came up from Utiea in ad-
vance of Mr. Horsfall’s expectations, and before the house
was ready for them, but matters were pushed forward with
all possible speed, and on the evening of the second day
after their arrival they took possession of the place. The
furniture was thrown in higeledy-piggledy, and all at-
tempts to put things to rights were postponed until the
next day. The family walled over after tea from the inn
at which they had been staying, resolving to rough it for
a single night in their new home in preference to passing
another night amid countless swarms of “the pestilence
that walketh in darkness.” Two beds were hastily made
up on the floor of the drawing-room, one for the oceupa-
tion of Mr. and Mrs. Horsfall, and the other for the two
young women, <A. third bed was hastily extemporized on
the floor of the dining-room for the occupation of Master
George Washington, and Dinah found repose on a lounge
in the adjacent kitchen. The entire household went to
bed sometime between ten and eleven o'clock, all pretty
well tired, and prepared for a comfortable night’s rest.
They had been in bed somewhat more than an hour
when the whole family was aroused by the barking of a
dog in the lower hall. This was, not unnaturally, re-
garded as strange, inasmuch as all the doors and windows
had been carefully fastened by Mr. Horsfall beiore retir-
ing, and there had certainly been no dog in the house

1006 The Hlaunted House on Duchess Street.

then. The head of the family lost no time in lighting a
candle and opening the door into the hall. At the same
moment young G. W. opened the door on the opposite side,
Yes, there, sure enough, was a laree, black Newfoundland
dog, seemingly very much at home, as though he belonged
to the place. As the youth advanced towards him he re-
treated to the stairway, up which he passed at a great pad-
ding pace. How on earth had he gained an entrance ?
Well, at all events he must be got rid of ; but he looked
as if he would be an awkward customer to tackle at close
quarters and Mr. Horsfall deemed it prudent to put on a
part of his clothing before making any attempt to expel
him, While he was dressing, the tread of the animal on
the floor of the upper hall could be distinetly heard, and
ever and anon he emitted a sort of low, barking sound,
which was ominous of a disposition to resent any inter-
ference with him, By this time all the members of the
household were astir and clustering about the lower hall,
Mr. Horsfall, with a lighted candle in one hand and a
stout cudgel in the other, passed up the stairs and looked
alone the passage. Why, what on earth had become of
the dog! It was nowhere to be seen! Where could it
have hidden itself? It was certainly too large an
animal to have taken refuge in a rat-hole. Had _ it
entered one of the rooms? Impossible, for they were all
closed, though not locked. Mr. H. himself having unlocked
them in the course of the afternoon, when soine furniture
had been taken into them. He, however, looked into
each room in succession, only to find “darkness there and
nothing inore.” Then he concluded that the brute must

have gone down stairs while he had been putting on his

and
the
the
ers
agal
more
built

Thi Tlaunte a Llouse OH Lite hess Street, lO,

clothes in the room below. No, that could not be, for
George Washington had never left the foot of the stair-
way from the moment the dog first passed up. Had it
jumped through one of the windows? No, they were all
fast and intact. Had it gone up the chimney of the front
room? No; apart from the absurdity of the idea, the
hole was not large enough to admit of a dog one-fifth its
size. In vain the house was searched through and through.
Not a sign of the huge disturber of the domestic peace
was to be seen anywhere.

After a while, Mr. Horsfall, at a loss for anything bet-
ter to exercise his faculties upon, opened both the front
and back doors and looked all over the premises, alter-
nately calling Carlo! Watch! and every other name
which oceurred to him as likely to be borne by a dog,
There was no response, and in sheer disgust he re-entered
the house and again sought his couch. Ina few minutes
more the household was again locked in slumber, But
they were not at the end of their annoyances. About
half an hour after midnight they were once more aroused.
—this time by the sound of loud voices in the large upper
room, “I tell you we will all have glasses round,” roared
a stentorian voice—“I will knock down the first man
who objects!” Everybody in the house heard the voice
and the words. This was apparently more serious than
the dog. Mr, H. regretted that he had left bis pistols at
the inn, but he determined to rid the place of the intrud-
ers whoever they might be. Grasping the cudgel he

again made his way up-stairs, candle in hand. When
more than half way up he caught sight of a tall, heavily-
huilt, red-faced man, who had apparently emerged from

LAT RR A OL ene a er ae ene RSD) EI = a

10s The Haunted House on Duchess Street.

the larger room, and who was just on the point of opening
the door of the bael bedroom. “Who are you, you
scoundrel 2” exclaimed Mir H. The man apparently
neither saw nor heard him, but opened the door with tran-
quil unconcern and passed into the room. Mr, H. followed
quickly at his very heels—only to find that he had been
beguiled with a counterfeit, and that there was no one
there. Then he stepped back into the hallway, and
entered the larger room with cudgel raised, fully expect-
ing to find several men there. To his unspeakable
astonishment he found nobody. Again he hurried from
room to room, upstairs and downstairs. Again he exam-
ined the doors and windows to see if the fastenings had
been tampered with. No, all was tight and snug. The
fanuly were again astir, hurrying hither and thither, in
quest of they knew not what ; but they found nothing to
reward their search, and after a while all gathered to-
oether half-elad in the dining room, where they began to
ask each other what these singular disturbances could
mean,

Mr. Horsfall was a plain, matter of fact personage, and
up to this moment no idea of any supernatural visitation
had so much as entered his mind. Even now he scouted
the idea when it was timidly broached by his wife. He,
however, perceived plainly enough that this was some-
thing altogether out of the common way, and he announced
his intention of going to bed no more that night. The
others lay down again, but we may readily believe that
they slept lightly, if at all, though nothing more occurred
to disturb them. Soon after daylight all the family rose and

dressed for the day. Onee more they made tour after

ing
you
tly
an-
ved
een
one
and
ect-
ible

rom

am-
had
The

The llaunted Tlouse ON Duchess Street 1ON

tour through all the rooms, only to find that everything re-
mained precisely as it had been left on the preceding
night.

After an early breakfast Mr. H. proceeded to the house
of Mr. Washburn, where he found that gentleman was
still asleep, and that he could not be disturbed. The Visi-
tor was a patient man and declared his intention of
waiting. In about an hour Mr. Washburn caine down
stairs, and heard the extraordinary story which his ten-
ant had to relate. He had certainly not anticipated any-
thing of this sort, and gave vehement utterance to his
surprise. In reply to Mr, H.’s enquiries about the house,
however, he gave him a brief account of the life and death
of Captain Bywater, and supplemented the biography by
a narration of the singular experiences of Jim Summers
and his wife. Then the American fired up, alleging that
his landlord had had no right to let him the house, and to
permit him to remove his fainily into it, without aequain-
ting him with the facts beforehand. The lawyer admitted
that he had perhaps been to blame, and expressed his re-
eret. The tenant declared that he then and there threw
up his tenancy, and that he would vacate the house in
the course of the day. Mr. Washburn felt that a court of
law would probably hesitate to enforce a lease under such
circumstances, and assented that the arrangement between
them should be treated as cancelled.

mae) (Mir llhannted louse 7 Duchess Sree,

Vill.—-THE LAST OF THE HOUSE,

(ND concelled it was. Mr. Horsfall temporarily
took his family and his other belongings
hack to the inn, but soon afterwards secured
)\@) a house where no guests, canine, or other-
¥/ wise, were in the habit of intruding them-
-' “selves uninvited in the silent watches of the
night. He kepta store here for some years, and,
I believe, was buried at York. A son of his, as I am
informed—probably the same who figures in the fore-
going narrative—is, or lately was, a well-to-do resident
of Syracuse, N. Y.

Mr. Horsfall made no secret of his reasons for throwing
up his tenancy, and his adventures were soon noised
abroad throughout the town, He was the last tenant of
the sombre house. Thenceforward no one could be in-
luced to rent it or even to occupy it rent free. It was
commonly regarded as a Whisht, gruesome spot, and was
totally unproductive to its owners. Its subsequent history
nas already been given.

And now what more is there to tell ? Only this: that
the main facts of the forefoing story are true. Of course
I am not in a position to vouch for them from personal
knowledge, any more than I am ina position to personally
vouch for the invasion of England by William of Nor-
mandy. Butthey rest on as good evidence as most other

wily
ings
ured
her-
1em-
the
and,
[ am
fore-
ident

The Haunted House on Duchess Streeé.

private events of sixty-odd years ago, and there is no rea-
son for doubting their literal truth. With regard to the
supernatural element, I am free to confess that I am not

ur
5

able to accept it in entirety. This is not because I ques-
tion the veracity of those who vouch for the alleged facts,
but because I have not received those facts at first hand,
and because Iam not very ready to believe in the super-
natural at all. I think that, in the case under considera-
tion, an intelligent investigation at the time might
pi bably have brought to light circumstances as to which
the narrative, as it stands, is silent. Be that as it may,
the tale is worth the telling, and I have told it.

etn a an ets nee (IS = =

Sg an es

a Na

mal

SAVARKEEN’S DISAPPEARANCE,

A HALF-FORGOTTEN CHAPTER IN THE HISTORY OF AN
UPPER CANADIAN TOWNSHIP.

CHAPTER I.

THE PLACE AND THE MAN.

~

ff EAR the centre of one of the most flourish-

ing of the western counties of Ontario,

and on the line of the Great Western

branch of the Grand Trunk Railway,

stands a pleasant little town, which, for

the purposes of this narrative, may be call-

ed Millbrook. Not that its real name is

Millbrook, or anything in the least similar

thereto ; but as this story, so far as its

main events are concerned, is strictly true, and some of
the actors in it are still living, it is perhaps desirable
not to be too precise in the matter of locality. The

G

Peta . 4 a Se soons

Ht
Uae §
i

ae
ae
Homan
}
i)
Ht
Fa
4}
a
Bit
i
Ht
5
13
i
Nie
5
i
as
if
i
¢

ey
7:
ine
aif
ih
i 4
{|
ELE &
Bp &
nim yt
;
al
h B
Les
i
b
are &
| iy
iB &
eh oe
i

114 Savareen’s Disappearance.

strange disappearance of Mr. Savareen made a good deal
of noise at the time, not only in the neighborhood, but
throughout Upper Canada. It was a nine days’ won-
der, and was duly chronicled and commented upon by the
leading provincial newspapers of the period ; but it has
long since passed out of general remembrance, and the
chain of circumstances subsequently arising out of the
event have never been made known beyond the limited
circle immediately interested. The surviving members
of that circle would probably not thank me for once more
dragging their names conspicuously before the public
gaze. I might certainly veil their personalities under
the thin disguise of initial letters, but to this mode of re-
lating a story I have always entertained a decided objec-
tion. The chief object to be aimed at in’ story-telling is
to hold the attention of the reader, and, speaking for my-
self, I am free to confess that I have seldom been able to
feel any absorbing interest in characters who figure mere-
ly as the M. or N. of the baptismal service, I shall there-
fore assign fictitious names to persons and places, and I
sannot even pretend to mathematical exactness as to one
or two minor details. In reporting conversations, for in-
stance, I do not profess to reproduce the ipsissima verba
of the speakers, but merely to give the effect and purport
of their discourses. I have, however, been at some pains
to be accurate, and I think I may justly claim that in all
essential particulars this story of Savareen’s~ disappear-
ance is as true as any report of events which took place
a good many years ago can reasonably be expected to be.

First: As to the man. Who was he?

Well, that is easily told. He was the second son of a

Savareen's Disappearance. [15

fairly well-to-do English yeoman, and had been brought
up to farming pursuits on the paternal acres in Hertford-
shire. He emigrated to Upper Canada in or about the
year 1851, and had not been many weeks in the colony
before he became the tenant of a small farm situated in
the township of Westchester, three miles to the north of
Millbrook. At that time he must have been about
twenty-five or twenty-six years of age. So far as could
be judged by those who came most frequently into per-
sonal relations with him, he had no very marked indi-
viduality to distinguish him from others of his class and
station in life. He was simply a young English farmer
who had migrated to Canada with a view to improving
his condition and prospects.

In appearance he was decidedly prepossessing. He
stood five feet eleven inches in his stockings ; was broad
of shoulder, strong of arm, and well set up about the
limbs. His complexion was fair and his hair had a de-
cided inclination to curl. He was proficient in most ath-
letics ; could box and shoot, and if put upon his mettle,
could leap bodily over a five-barred gate. He was fond
of good living, and could always be depended upon to do
full justice to a well-provided dinner, It cannot be
denied that he occasionally drank more than was abso-
lutely necessary to quench a normal thirst, but he was
as steady as could be expected of any man who has from
his earliest boyhood been accustomed to drink beer as an
ordinary beverage, and has always had the run of the
buttery hatch. He liked a good horse, and could ride
anything that went on four legs, He also had a weak-
ness for dogs, end usually had one or two of thoseanimals

116 Savareen’s Disappearance.

dangling near his heels whenever he stirred out of doors.
Men and things in this country were regarded by him
from a strictly trans-Atlantic point of view, and he was
frequently heard to remark that this, that, and the other
thing were “nothink to what we ‘ave at ome.”

He was inore or less learned in matters pertaining to
agriculture, and knew something about the current doc-
trines bearing on the rotation of crops. His literary edu-
cation, moreover, had not been wholly neglected. He
could read and write, and could cast up accounts which
were not of too involved and complicated a character,
It cannot truly be said that he had read Tom Jones,
Roderick Random, and Pierce Egan’s Life in London. He
regarded Cruikshank’s illustrations to the last named
work—more particularly that one depicting Corinthian
Tom “ getting the best of Charley,’—as far better worth
looking at than the whole collection in the National Gal-
lery, a place where he had once whirled away a tedious
hour or two during a visit to town.

Then, he was not altogether ignorant concerning
several notable events in the history of his native land
That is to say, he knew that a certain king named Charles
the First had been beheaded a good many years ago, and
that a disreputable personage named Oliver Cromwell
had somehow been mixed up in the transaction. He un-
derstood that the destinies of Great Britain were presided
over by Queen Victoria and two Houses of Parliament,
‘alled respectively the House of Lords and the House of
Commons ; and he had a sort of recollection of having
heard that those august bodies were called Estates of the
Realm. In his eyes, everything English was ipso facto

Savareen’s Disappearance. 117

to be commended and admired, whereas everything un-
English was ipso facto to be proportionately condemned
and despised, Any misguided person who took a diftter-
ent view of the matter was to be treated as one who had
denied the faith, and was worse than an infidel.

I have said that his appearance was prepossessing, and
so it was in the ordinary course of things, though he had
a broad sear on his left cheek which, on the rare ocea-
sions when he was anery, asserted itself somewhat con-
spicuously, and imparted, for the nonee, a sinister expres-
sion to his countenance. This disfigurement, as [have
heard, had been received by him some years before his
arrival in Canada. During a visit to one of the market
towns in the neighborhood of his home, he had casually
dropped into a gymnasium, andl engaged in a fencing
bout with a friend who accompanied him. Neither of
the contestants had ever handled a foil before, and they
were of course unskilled in the use of such dangerous
playthings. During the contest the button had slipped
from his opponent’s weapon, just as the latter was making
a vigorous lunge. As a conseyuence Savareen’s cheek
had been laid open by a wound which left its permanent
impress upon him. He himself was in the habit of jocu-
larly alluding to this distigurement as his “ bar sinister.”

For the rest, he was stubborn as a mule about trifles
which did not in the least concern him, but as regarded
the affairs of every-day life he was on the whole pleasant
and easy-going, more especially when nothing occurred to
put him out. When anything of the kind did oceur, he
could certainly assume the attitude of an ugly customer,
and on such oceasions the wound on his cheek put ona

118 Savareen’s Disappearance.

lurid hue which wasnot pleasant to contemplate. His ordi-
nary discourse inainly dealt with the events of his every-
ib day life. It was not irtellectually stimulating, and for
H |} the most part related to horses, dogs, and the crop pros-
pects of the season. In short, if you have ever lived in
rural England, or if you have been in the habit of fre-

quenting English country towns on market-days, you
must have encountered scores of jolly young farmers who,
to all outward seeming, with the solitary exception of the
sinister scar, might pretty nearly have stood for his por-
trait.

Such was Reginald Bourchier Savareen, and if you
have never come across anybody possessing similar char-
acteristics—always excepting the scar—your experience
of your fellow-creatures has been more limited than
might be expected from a reader of your age and mani-

fest intelligence.

His farm—v. ¢., the farm rented by him—belonged to (

| old Squire Harrington, and lay in a pleasant valley on
the western side of the gravel road leading northward é

from Millbrook to Spotswood. The Squire himself lived I

in the red brick mansion which peeped out from the t

clump of maples a little further down on the opposite 1

side of the road. The country thereabouts was settled ]

Hi by a thrifty and prosperous race of pioneers, and pre- k
re sented a most attractive appearance. Alternate succes- h
ne sions of hill and dale greeted the eye of the traveller as le
he drove along the hard-packed highway, fifteen miles in n

length, which formed the connecting link between the fe

two towns above mentioned, The land was carefully
tilled, and the houses, generally speaking, were of a better

= <<

Savareen's Disappearance. 119

class than were to be found in most rural communities
in Upper Canada at that period. Savareen’s own dwell-
ing was unpretentious enough, having been originally
erected for one of the squire’s “hired men,” but it was
sufficient for his needs, as he had not married until a
little more than a year before the happening of the
events to be presently related, and his domestie estab-
lishment was small. His entire household consisted of
himself, his young wife, an infant in arms, a man servant
and a rustic maid of all work. In harvest time he, of
of course, employed additional help, but the harvesters
were for the most part residents of the neighborhood,
who found accommodation in their own homes. The
house was a small frame, oblong building, of the con-
ventional Canadian farm-house order of architecture,
painted of a drab color and standing a hundred yards or
so from the main road. The barn and stable stood a
convenient distance to the rear. About midway between
house and barn was a deep well, worked with a windlass
and chain. During the preceding season a young orchard
had been planted out in the space intervening between
the house and the road. Everything about the place
was kept in spick and span order. The tenant was fair-
ly successful in his farming operations, and appeared to
be holding his own with the world around him. He paid
his rent promptly, and was on excellent terms with his
landlord. He was, in fact, rather popular with his
neighbors generally, and was regarded asa man witha
fair future before him.

ae
it
|

120 Savareen's Disappearance.

CHAPTER II.
THE NEIGHBORHOOD,

BOUT a quarter of a mile to the north of Say-
areen’s abode was a charming little hostelry,
kept by a French Canadian named Jean Bap-
tiste Lapierre. It was one of the snuggest
and cosiest of imaginable inns; by no means

the sort of wayside tavern commonly to be met

with in Western Canada in those times, or even

in times much more recent. The landlord had kept a

high-class restaurant in Quebec in the old days before

the union of the Provinces, and piqued himself upon
knowing what was what. He was an excellent cook,
and knew how to eater to the appetites of more exacting
epicures than he was likely to number among his ordi-
nary patrons in a rural community like that in which he
had piched his quarters. When occasion required, he
could serve up a dinner or supper at which Brillat Sav-
arian himself would have had no excuse for turning up
his nose. It was seldom that any such exigeant demand
as this was made upon his skill, but even his ordinary
fare was good enough for any city sir or madam whom
chance might send beneath his roof, and such persons
never failed to carry away with them pleasant remem-
brances of the place.

The creaking sign which swayed in the breeze before
the hospitable door proclaimed it to be The Royal Oak,

KE
ha

Sav-
alry,
Bap-
rest
eans
met
even
ept a
efore
upon
cook,
eting
ordi-
h he
, he
Sav-
be Up
nand :
nary |
hom
‘sons
nem-

bfore
Dak ,

Savareen's Disappearance. [21

but it was commonly known throughout tho whole of
that country-side as Lapierre’s. The excellence of its
larder was proverbial, insomuch that professional men
and others used frequently to drive out from town ex-
pressly to dine orsup there. Once a week or so—usually
on Saturday nights—a few of the choice spirits thereabouts
used to meet in the cosy parlor and hold a decorous sort
of free-and-easy, winding up with supper at eleven
o'clock. On these occasions, as a matter of course, the
liquor flowed with considerable freedom, and the guests
had a convivial time of it; but there was nothing in the
shape of wild revelry—nothing to bring reproach upon
the good name of the house. Jean Baptiste had too much
regard for his well-earned reputation to permit these
meetings to degenerate into mere orgies. He showed due
respect for the sanctity of the Sabbath, and took care to
make the house clear of company before the stroke of
midnight. by such means he not only kept his guests
from indulging in riotous excesses, but secured their
respect for himself and his establishment.

Savareen was a pretty regular attendant at these con-
vivial gatherings, and was indeed a not infrequent visitor
at other times. He always met with a warm welcome,
for he could sing a good song, and paid his score with
commendable regularity. His Saturday nights’ potations
did not interfere with his timely appearance on Sunday
morning in his pew in the little church which stood on
the hill a short distance above Lapierre’s. His wife
usually sat by his side, and accompanied him to and fro.
Everything seemed to indicate that the couple lived
happily together, and that they were mutually blessed

ST

ape yes: eer

romeare a
Mh ey «ene an ee EE LR I RIEL CS be

SOT alter mnge: mye mreounmes pic tore

122 Savareen's Disappearance.

in their domestic relations. With regard to Mrs. Savar-
een, the only thing necessary to be mentioned about her
at present is that she was the daughter of a carpenter
and builder resident in Millbrook.

There was a good deal of travel on the Millbrook and
Spotswood road, more especially in the autumn, when the
Dutch farmers from the settlements up north used to
come down in formidable array, for the purpose of sup-
plying themselves with fruit to make cider and “apple-
sass’ for the winter. The great apple-producing district
of the Province begins in the townships lying a few miles
to the south of Westchester, and the road between Mill-
brook and Spotswood was, and is, the most direct route
thither from the Dutch settlements. The garb and other
appointments of the stalwart Canadian Teuton of those
days were such as to make him easily distinguishable
from his Celtic or Saxon neighbor. He usually wore a
Jong, heavy coat of coarse cloth, reaching down to his
heels. His head was surmounted by a felt hat witha
brim wide enough to have served, at a pinch, for the tent
of a side-show. His wagon was a great lumbering affair,
constructed, like himself, after an ante-diluvian pattern,
and pretty nearly capacious enough for a first-rate man-
of-war. In late September and early October it was no
unprecedented thing to see as many as thirty or forty of
these ponderous vehicles moving southward, one at the
tail of the other, in a continuous string, ~ They came
down empty, and returned a day or two afterwards laden
with the products of the southern orchards. On the
return journey the wagons were full to overflowing.
Not so the drivers, who were an exceedingly temperate

ree
hoi

On

ah

far

was
you
Squ
tent
whi
N

If ye

uar-
t her
enter

; and
n the
xd to
sup-
ipple-
strict
miles
Mill-
route
other
those
shable
rore a
to his
ith a
p tent
affair,
tern,
man-
AS no
ty of
the
ame
aden
the
ing.

brate

Savareen's Disappearance.

°°?
123

and abstemious people, too parsimonious to leave much
of their specie at the Royal Oak. It was doubtless for
this reason that mine host Lapierre regarded, and was
accustomed to speak of them with a good deal of easy
contempt, not to say aversion, They brought little or no
grist to his mill, and he was fond of proclaiming that he
did not keep a hotel for the accommodation of such
canaille. The emphasis placed by him on this last word
was something quite refreshing to hear,

The road all the way from Millbrook to Spotswood,
corresponds to the mathematical definition of a straight
line. It forms the third concession of the township, and
there is not a curve in it anywhere. The concessions
number from west to east, and the sidelines, running at
right angles to them are exactly two miles apart. At
the northwestern angle formed by the intersection of the
gravel road with the first side line north of Millbrook
stood a little toll-gate, kept, at the period of the story, by
one Jonathan Perry. Between the toll-gate and Sava-
reen’s on the same side of the road were several other
houses to which no more particular reference is necessary.
On the opposite side of the highway, somewhat more than
a hundred yards north of the toll-gate, was the abode of a
farmer named Mark Stolliver. Half a mile further up
was John Calder’s house, which was the only one until
you came to Squire Harrington’s, To the rear of the
Squire’s farm was a huge morass about fifty acres in ex-
tent, where cranberries grew in great abundance, from
which circumstance it was known as Cranberry Swamp.

Now you have the entire neighborhood before you, and
if you will cast your eye on the following rough plan you

clance :—

| Side | |

ah
Church >} | 2°
. . ee |
~ o~ | be
= — os
a - e
an ‘ ’ ,
2 Lapierre’s $+ © &
oO | — )
S | os
& , : [+m
5 Savareen's >}
T
ao/ 6
ole nN
= vo
oO |
= a
er ee,
| rh oe
Side -
—_ =
| | | &
| ~"
| |
—
| &
as) >
_
<4
S | os
(ov) oe
2 o

| |
|

Millbrook,

124 Savareen's Disapp AVANCE,

Line.

IRRY

«
4

CRANBI
SWAMP.

* John Calder’s,

- Stoiliver’s

Line.

will have no difticulty in taking in the scene at a single

Concession.

Fourth

single

Concession.

Fourth

Savareen’s Disappearance.

CHAPTER ITI.

A JOURNEY TO TOWN,

~~ N the early spring of the year 1854 a letter
reached Savareen from his former home in
Hertfordshire, containing intelligence of the

sudden death of his father. The old gentle-

inan had been tolerably well offin this world’s

gear, but he had left a numerous family behind

him, so that there was no great fortune in store

for Reginald. The amount bequeathed to him, how-
ever, was four hundred pounds sterling clear of all de-
ductions—a sum not to be despised, as it would go far
toward enabling him to buy the farm on which he lived,
and would thus give a material impetus to his fortunes.
The executors lost no time in winding up and distribut-
ing the estate, and during the second week in July a let-
ter arrived from their solicitors enclosing a draft on the
Toronto agency of the Bank of British North America for
the specified sum. Savareen made arrangements with
the local bank at Millbank to collect the proceeds, and
thus save him the expense of a journey to Toronto:
Meanwhile he coneluded a bargain with Squire Harring-
ton for the purchase of the farm. The price agreed upon
was $3,500, half of which was to be paid down upon the
delivery of the deed, the balance being secured by mort-
gage. The cash would be forthcoming at the bank not

126 Savareen's Disappearance.

later than the Sth of the month, and accordingly that
was the date fixed upon for the completion of the trans-
action. Lawyer Miller was instructed to have the docu-
ments ready for execution at noon, when the parties and
their respective wives were to attend at his oftice in Mill-
brook.

The morning of Monday, the 17th, was wet and gave
promise ofa rainy day. As there seemed to be no pros-
pect of his being able to do any outside work on the
farm, Savareen thought he might as well ride into town
and ascertain if the money had arrived. He saddled his
black mare, and started for Millbrook about ten in the
forenoon. His two dogs showed a manifest desire to ac-
company him, but he did not think fit to gratify their
desire and ordered them back. Before he had ridden tar
the rain ceased, and the sun came out warm and bright,
but he was in an idle mood, and didn’t think it worth
while to turn back. It seems probable, indeed, that he
had merely wanted an excuse for an idle day in town, as
there was no real necessity for such a journey. Upon
reaching the front street he stabled his mare at the Pea-
cock Inn, which was his usual house of call when in
Millbrook. He next presented himself at the bank, where
he made enquiry about his draft. Yes, the funds were
there all right. The clerk, supposing that he wanted to
draw the amount there and then, counted the notes out
for him, and requested him to sign the receipt in the book
kept for such purposes. Savareen then intimated that
he had merely called to enquire about the matter, and
that he wished to leave the money until next day. The
clerk, who was out of humor about some trifle or other,

that
ans-
ocu-

and

Mill-

gave
pros-
i the
town
d his
1 the
oO ac-
their
an tar
right;
vorth
at he
n, as
Jpon
Pea-
bn in
where
were
bd to
; out
book
that
and
The
ther,

Savareen's Disappearance. [27

and who was, moreover, very busy that morning, spoke
up sharply, remarking that he had had more bother about
that draft than the transaction was worth. His irritable
turn and language nettled Savareen, who accordingly took
the notes, signed the receipt and left the bank, declaring
that “that shop” should be troubled by no further busi-
ness of his. The clerk, as soon as he had time to think
over the matter, perceived that he had been rude, and
would have tendered an apology, but his customer had
already shaken the dust of the bank off his feet and taken
his departure, so that there was no present opportunity
of accommodating the petty quarrel. As events subse-
quently turned out it was destined never to be accommo-
dated in this world, for the two never met again on this
side the grave.

Instead of returning home immediately as he ought to
have done, Savareen hung about the tavern all day,
drinking more than was good for his constitution, and
regaling every boon companion he met with an account
of the ineivility to which he had been subjected at the
hands of the bank clerk. Those to whom he told the
story thought he attached more importance to the affair
than it deserved, and they noticed that the sear on his
cheek came out in its most lurid aspect. He dined at the
Peacock and afterwards indulged in sundry games of
bagatelle and ten-pins ; but the stakes consisted merely
of beer and cigars, and he did not get rid of more than a
few shillings in the course of theafternoon. Between six
and seven in the evening his landlady regaled him witha
cup of strong tea, after which he seemed none the worse
for his afternoon’s relaxations. A few minutes before

128 Savareen’s Disappearance.

dusk he mounted his mare and started on his way home-
ward,

The ominous clouds of the early inorning had long since
passed over. The sun had shone brightly throughout the
afternoon, and had gone down amid a gorgeous blaze of
splendour. The moon would not rise till nea.ly nine, but
the evening was delightfully calm and clear, and the
horseman’s way home was as straight as an arrow, over
one of the best roads in the country.

CHAPTER IV.
GONE.

precisely eight o’clock in the evening of this
identical Monday, July 17th, 1854, old Jona-
than Perry sat tranquilly smoking his pipe at

aS

FX.) the door of the toll-gate two miles north of
We Millbrook,

yer The atmosphere was too warm to admit of the

wearing of any great display of apparel, and the
old man sat hatless and coatless on a sort of settle at the
threshold. He was an inveterate old gossip, and was ac-
quainted with the business of everybody in the neighbor-
hood. He knew all about the bargain entered into be-
tween Savareen and Squire Harrington, and how it was
to be consummated on the following day. Savareen,
when riding townwards that morning, had informed him
of the ostensible purpose of his journey, and it now sud-
denly occurred to the old man to wonder why the young
farmer had not returned home,

in
pu
bic
lin
the
the
’
ree)
pay
mon
as I
droy

1e-

nee
the

. of
but
the
yver

this
ona-
pe at
th of

fr the
1 the
t the
S ac-
vbor-
0 be-
was
reen,
him
sud-
oung

Savareen's Disappearance. 129

While he sat there pondering, the first stroke of the
town bell proclaiming the hour was borne upon his ear.
Before the ringing had ceased, he caught the additional]
sound of a horse’s hoofs rapidly advancing up the road.

“ Ah,” said he to himself, “here he comes. I reekon
his wife’ll be apt to give him fits for being so late.”

In another moment the horseman drew up before him,
but only to exchange a word of greeting, as the gate was
thrown wide open, and there was nothing to bar his pro-
vress, The venerable gate-keeper had conjectured right.
It was Savareen on his black mayre.

“ Well, Jonathan, a nice evening,” remarked the young
farmer.

“Yes, Mr. Savareen—a lovely night. You've had a
long day of it in town. They'll be anxious about you
at home. Did you find the money all right, as you ex-
pected ?”

“QO, the money was there, right enough, and I’ve got it
in my pocket. I had some words with that conceited
puppy, Shuttleworvh, at the bank. He’s altogether too
big for his place, and I can tell you he'll have the hand-
ling of no more money of mine.” And then, for about
the twentieth time within the last few hours, he recounted
the particulars of his interview with the bank clerk.

The old man expressed his entire concurrence in Sava-
reen’s estimate of Shuttleworth’s conduct. “I have to
pay the gate-money into the bank on the first of every
month,” he remarked, “and that young feller always acts
as if he felt too uppish to touch it. I wonder you didn’t
drop into ’un.”

H

1 30 Savarveen’s Disappearance S

“O, I wasn’t likely to do that,” was the reply—* but I
gave him a bit of my mind, and [ told him it ’ud bea
long time afore I darkened the doors of his shop aain.
And so it will. I’d sooner keep my bit o’ money, when I
have any, in the clock-case at home. There’s never any
housebreaking hereabouts.”

Jonathan responded by saying that, in so far as he
knew, there hadn't been a burglary for many a year,
“ But all the same,’ he continued, “I shouldn’t like to
keep such a sun as four hundred pound about me, even
fora single night. No more I shouldn't like to carry
such a pot o’ money home in the night time,even if nobody
knew as I had it on me. Ride you home, Mr. Savareen,
and hide it away in some safe place till to-morrow morn-
ing—that’s my advice.”

“And very good advice it is, Jonathan,’ was the re-
sponse. “I'll act upon it without more words. Good
night!” And so saying, Savareen continued his course
homeward at a brisk trot.

The old man watched him as he sped away up the road,
but could not keep him in view more than half a minute
or so,as by this time the light of day had wholiy de-
parted. He lighted his pipe, which had gone out during
the conversation, and resumed his seat on the settle.
Scarcely had he done so ere he heard the clatter of horse’s
hoofs moving rapidly towards the gate from the north-
ward. “ Why,’ said he to himself, “this must be Sava-
reen coming back again. What's the matter now, I won-
der?”

But this time he was out in his conjecture. When the

horseman reached the gate, he proved to be not Savareen,

oO!

H
ho
ing
liv

he
ear.
» to
ven
ALTY
ody
reen,
orn-

e ver
ood
urse

r¢ ad,
inute
iy de-
rring
ttle.
brse Ss
orth-
hava-
won-

n the
reen,

Savareen's Disappearance. [31

but mine host Lapierre, mounted on his fast-trotting nag,
Count Frontenac—a name irreverently abbreviated by
the sportsmen of the district into “Fronty.” The rider
drew up with a boisterous “Woa!” and reached out
towards the gate-keeper a five-cent piece by way of toll,
saying as he did so:
“ Vell, Mister Perry, how coes everytings wiss you ?”

I didn’t know you till
My eyesight’s getting dimmer every day, |

“QO, good evening, Mr. Lapierre :
you spoke,
think. Bound for town ¢”

“Ves, I want to see what has cot Mr, Safareen. He
went to town early this morning to see about some money
matters, and promised to pe pack in a couple of hours,
put he ain’t pack yet. Mrs. Safareen cot so uneasy apout
him to-night, that she came up to my place and pegged
me to ride down and hunt him up.
him on his way down ?”

“Saw him! What are you talk-
ing about? Didn’t you meet him just now ?”

“ Meet who ?”

“ Savareen.”

“Where? When?”

“Why, not two minutes ago. He passed through here
on his way home just before you came up.”

“How long pefore ?”

“ How long!
He hadn’t hardly got out o’ sight when I heerd your
horse’s feet on the stones, and thought it was him a-com-
ing back again, “You must a met him this side o’ Stol-
liver's.”

I suppose you saw

On his way down!

Why, don’t I tell you, not two minutes,

132 Savarcen’s Disappearance.

'
|
Then followed further explanations on the part of old
Jonathan, who recounted the conversation he had just
had with Savareen.
: Well, of course, the key to the situation was not hard
} to find. Savareen had left the toll-gate and proceeded
northward not more than two or three minutes before
| Lapierre, riding southward along the same road, had
reached the same point. The two had not encountered
| each other. Therefore, one of them had deviated from
the road. There had been no deviation on the part of
| Lapierre, so the deviator must necessarily have been
Savareen. But the space of time which had elapsed was
too brief to admit of the latter’s having ridden more than
| a hundred yards or thereabouts. The only outlet from
the road within four times that distance was the gate-
way leading into Stolliver’s house. The explanation,
i consequently, was simple enough. Savareen had ealled
| in at Stollivers. Q. KE. D.
Strange, though, that he had said nothing to old Jona-
than about his intention to call there. He had ridden off
as though intent upon getting home without delay, and
hiding his money away in a safe place for the night.
And, come to think of it, it was hard to understand what
possible reason he could have for calling at Stolliver’s.
; He had never had any business or social relations of any
ae kind with Stolliver, and in fact the two had merely a
ae nodding acquaintance. Still another strange thing was
a that Savareen should have taken his horse inside the gate,
Lh as there was a tying-post outside, and he could not have |
4 | intended to make any prolonged stay. However, there ai
was no use raising difficult problems, which could doubt-

id

ist

rd
led
ore
vad
red
‘om
t of
een
was
han
rom
ate-
ion,

lled

yna-
1 of F
and
oht.
hat
er’s.
any
ly a
was
ate,
ave
ere
ibt-

Savareen’s Disappearance.

Oo
4

less be solved by wa moment’s explanation, It was abso-
lutely certain that Savareen was at Stollifer’s because he
could not possibly have avoided meeting Lapierre if he
had not called there. It was Lapierre’s business to find
him and take him home. Accordingly the landlord of
the Royal Oak turned his horse’s head and eantered back
up the road till he reached the front of Stolliver’s place.
Stolliver and his two boys were sitting out on the front
fence, having emerged from the house only a moment
before. They had been working in the fields until past
sundown, and had just risen from a late supper. Old
Stolliver was in the habit of smoking a pipe every night
after his evening meai, and in pleasant weather he gene-
rally chose to smoke it out of doors, as he was doing this
evening, although the darkness had fallen. Lapierre, as
he drew rein, saw the three figures on the fence, but
could not in the darkness, distinguish one from another.

“Ts that Mister Stollifer ?” he asked.

“Yes; who be you ?” was the ungracious response, de-
livered in a gruff tone of voice. Old Stolliver was a boor-
ish, cross-grained customer, who paid slight regard to the
amenities, and did not show to advantage in conversation:

“Don’t you know me? I am Mister Lapierre.”

“QO, Mr, Lapierre, eh? Been a warm day,”

“Yes, Hass Mister Safareen gone ?”

“Mister who ?”

“ Mister Safareen. Wass he not here shoost now ?”

“Here? What fur?”

The landlord was by this time beginning to feel a little
disgusted at the man’s boorish incivility. “ Will you pe

134 Savareen’s Disappearance.

so coul as bo tell me,’ he asked, “if Mister Safareen hass
peen here ?”

“Not as I know of. Hain’t seen him,”

Lapierre was astounded. He explained the state of af-
fairs to his interlocuter, who received the communication
with his wonted stolidity, and proceeded to light his
pipe, as much as to say that the affair was none of his
funeral.

“ Well,” he remarked, with exasperating coolness, “I
guess you must ‘a’ passed him on the road. We hain’t
been out here more’n a minute or two. Nobody hain’t
passed since then.”

This seemed ineredible. Where, then, was Savareen ?
Had he sunk into the bowels of the earth, or gone up,
black mare and all, in a balloon? Of course it was all
nonsense about the landlord having passed him on the
road without seeing or hearing anything of him. But
what other explanation did the circumstances admit of ?
At any rate, there was nothing for Lapierre to do but
ride back to Savareen’s house and see if he had arrived
there. Yes, one other thing might be done. He might
return to the toll gate and ascertain whether Jonathan
Perry was certain as to the identity of the man from
whom he had parted a few minutes before. So Count
Frontenac’s head was once more turned southward. A
short trot brought him again to the toll-house.- The gate-
keeper was still sitting smoking at the door. A mo-
ment’s conference with him was sufticient to convince La-
pierre that there could be no question of*mistaken ident-
ity. “Why,” said Jonathan, “I know Mr. Savareen as
well as I know my right hand. And then, didn’t he tell

Savareen’s Disappearance. 135

ass me about his row with Shuttleworth, and that he had
the four hundred pounds in his pocket. Why, dark as it
was, I noticed the sear on his cheek when he was talking

af- about it.—I say, Missus, look here,” he called in a louder
Fion tone, whereupon his wife presented herself at the thres-
his hold. “ Now,” resumed the old man, “just tell Mr. La-
his pierre whether you saw Mr. Savareen talking to me a few
minutes since, and whether you saw him ride off up the
ea road just before Mr. Lapierre came down. Did you, or
ain’t did you not ?”
ain’t Mrs. Perry’s answer was decisive, and at the same time
conclusive as to the facts. She had not only seen Sava-
een 2 reen sitting on his black mare at the door, immediately
e up, after the town bell ceased ringing for eight o’clock ; but
is all she had listened to the conversation between him and her
the husband, and had heard pretty nearly every word. La-
But pierre cross examined her, and found that her report of
of 2 the interview exactly corresponded with what he had al-
b but reac.y heard from old Jonathan. “ Why,” said she, “there
‘ived is no more doubt of its being Mr. Savareen than there is of
right that gate-post being there on theroad-side. ‘ Very good
than advice it is, says he, ‘and I'll act upon it without more
from words. Then he said ‘good night,’ and off he went up
ount the road. Depend upon it, Mr. Lapierre, you’ve missed
A him somehow in the darkness, and he’s safe and sound at
gate- : home by this time.”
mo- “Yes, yes, Mr. Lapierre, not a doubt on it,’ resumed
Bas old Jonathan, “ you ve a passed him on the road athout
ent- seein’ im. It was dark, and you were both in a hurry.
en as I’ve heerd o’ lots o’ stranger things nor that.”
> tell

130 Savarcen's Disappearance.

Lapierre couldn't see it. He knew well enough that it
was no more possible for him to passa man on horseback
on that narrow highway, on a clear night, without seeing
him—more especially when he was out for the express
purpose of finding that very man—than it was possible
for him to serve out un petit verre of French brandy in
mistake for a gill of Hollands. The facts, however, seem-
ed to be wholly against him, as he bade the old couple a
despondent good-night and put Count Frontenac to his
mettle. He stayed not for brook—there was a brook a
short distance up the road—and he stopped not for stone,
but tore along at a break-neck pace as though he was
riding for a wager. In five minutes he reached Sava-
reen’s front gate.

Mrs. Savareen was waiting there, on the look-out for
her husband, No, of course he had not got home. ‘She
had neither seen nor heard anything of him, and was by
this time very uneasy. You may be sure that her anxiety
was not lessened when she heard the strange tale which
Lapierre had to tell her.

Kven then, however, she did not give up the hope of
her husband’s arrival sometime during the night. La-
pierre promised to look in again in an hour or two, and
passed on to his own place, where he regaled the little
company he found there with the narrative of his even-
ing’s exploits. Before bedtime the story was known all
over the neighborhood.

Savareen's Disappearance.

CHAPTER V.

ONE HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD.
Y (Rs. Savareen sat up waiting for her lord until
VA long past midnight, but her vigil was in vain.

v,

Lapierre, after closing up his inn for the night,

dropped in, according to his promise, to see

if any news of the absentee had arrived.
Nothing further could be done in the way of
searching for the latter personage until daylight.

It was getting on pretty well towards morning when
Mrs. Savareen sought her couch, and when she got there
her slumber was broken and disturbed, She knew not
what to think, but she was haunted by a dread that she
would never again see her husband alive.

Next morning, soon after daylight, the whole neighbor-
hood was astir, and the country round was carefully
searched for any trace of the missing man, {squire Har-
rington went down to town and made inquiries at the
bank, where he ascertained that the story told by Sava-
reen to old Jonathan Perry, as to his altercation with
Shuttleworth, was substantially correct. This effectually
disposed of any possible theory as to Jonathan and his
wife having mistaken somebody else for Savareen. Squire
Harrington likewise learned all about the man’s doings
on the previous afternoon, and was able to fix the time at
which he had started for home. He had ridden from the

138 Savareen's Disappearance.

door of the Peacock at about a quarter to eight. This
would bring him to the toll-gate at eight o’cloeck—the
hour at which Perry professed to have seen and conversed
with him. There was no longer any room for doubt,
That interview and conversation had actually taken place
at eight o’clock on the previous evening, and Savareen
had ridden northward from the gate within five minutes
afterwards, He could not have proceeded more than a
hundred—or, at the very outside, two hundred—yards
further, or he must inevitably have been encountered by
Lapierre. How had he contrived to vanish so suddenly
out of existence? And it was not only the man, but the
horse, which had disappeared in this unaccountable man-
ner. Itseemed improbable that two living substances of
such bulk should pass out of being and leave no trace be-
hind them. They must literally have melted into thin
alr,

No, they hadn’t. At least the black mare hadn't, for
she was discovered by several members of the searching-
party a little before noon, When found, she was quietly
cropping the damp herbage at the edge of the cran-
berry swamp at the rear of Squire Harrington’s farm.
She was wholly uninjured, and had evidently spent
the night there. The bit had been removed from her
mouth, but the bridle hung intact round her neck.
The saddle, however, like its owner, had disappeared from
her back.

Then the men began asystematic search in the interior
of the swamp. They soon came upon the saddle, which
had apparently been deliberately unbuckled, removed
from off the mare, and deposited ona dry patch of ground,

This
—the
versed
loubt.

place

vareen
inutes
han a
-yards
red by
ddenly
ut the
e man-
nees of
‘ace be-
o thin

n’t, for
rching-
quietly
cran-
Ss farm.
spent
bm her
neck.
d from

nterior

which
bmoved
rround,

Savareen's Disappearance. 139

near the edge of the morass. <A. little further in the in-
terior they came upon a man’s coat, made of dark brown
stuff. This garment was identified by one of the party as
belong to Savareen. It was wet and besmirched with
mud, and, in fact was lying half in and half out of a little
puddle of water when it was found. ‘Then the searchers
made sure of fiuding the body.

But in this they were disappointed. ‘The explored the
recesses of the swamp from end to end and side to side
with the utmost thoroughness, but found nothing further
to reward their search. The ground was too soft and
marshy to retain any traces of footsteps, and the mare and
saddle furnished the only evidence that the object of their
quest had been in the neighborhood of the swamp—and
of course this evidence was of the most vague and incon-
clusive character.

Then the party proceeded in a body to the missing
man’s house. Here another surprise awaited them. The
coat was at once recognised by Mrs. Savareen as belong-
ing to her husband, but Ir WAS NOT THE COAT WORN BY
HIM AT THE TIME OF HIS DISAPPEARANCE.. Of this there
was no doubt whatever. In fact, he had not worn it for
more than a week previously. His wife distinctly re-
membered having folded and laid it away in the top of a
large trunk on the Saturday of the week before last, since
which time she had never set eyes on it. Here was a
deepening of the mystery.

The search was kept up without intermission for sev-
eral days, nearly all of the farmers in the vicinity taking
part in it, even to the neglect of the harvest work which
demanded their attention. Squire Harrington was espec-

140 Savareen's Disappearance Ye

ially active, and left no stone unturned to unravel the
mystery. Lapierre gave up all his time to the search, and
left the Royal Oak to the care of its landlady. The local
constabulary bestirred themselves as they had never done
before. Every place, likely and unlikely, where a man’s
body might possibly lie concealed ; every tract of bush and
woodland ; every barn and out building; every hollow
and ditch; every field and fence corner, was explored
with careful minuteness. Even the wells of the district
were peered into and examined for traces of the thirteen
stone of humanity which had so unaccountably disap-
peared from off the face of the earth. Doctor Scott, the
local coroner, held himself in readiness to suunmon a coro-
ners jury at the shortest notice. When all these meas-
sures proved unavailing, a public meeting of the inhabi-
tants was convened, and funds were subscribed to still
further prosecute the search. A reward of a hundred
pounds was offered for any information which should lead
to the discovery of the missing man, dead or alive, or
which should throw any light upon his fate. Hand-bills
proclaiming this reward, and describing the man’s personal
appearance, were exhibited in every bar room and other
conspicuous place throughout Westchester and the adja-
cent townships. Advertisements, setting forth the main
facts, were inserted in the principal newspapers of To-
ronto, Hainilton and London, as well as in those of several
of the nearest county towns.

All to no purpose. Days—weeks—months passed by,
and furnished not the shadow of a clue to the mysterious
disappearance of Reginald Bourchier Savareen on the
night of Monday, the 17th of July, 1854.

COI

pe

1 the
, and
local
‘lone
man’s
h and
ollow
ylored
strict
irteen
lisap-
t, the
coro-
meas-
vhabi-
> still
ndred
d lead
ve, or
1-bills
rsonal
other
adja-
main
bf To-

everal

ed by,
erious
n the

Savareen’s Disappearance. 141

CHAPTER VI.
SPECULATIONS,

GS OR a long time subsequent to the night of the

c=" disappearance a more puzzled community
(dike than the one settled along the Millbrook
ae i) ee and Spotswood road would have been hard
*y=y —* to find in Upper Canada. At first sight it
pe seemed probable that the missing man had been

murdered for his money, On the afternoon of
the day when he was last seen in Millbrook the fact
of his having four hundred pounds in ban< bills in
his possession was known to a great many people, for,
as already intimated, he told the story of his dispute
at the bank to pretty nearly everyone with whom he
came in contact during the subsequent portion of the day,
and he in every instance wound up his narration by pro-
claiming to all whom it might concern that he had the
notes in his pocket. But it was difficult to fix upon any
particular individual as being open to suspicion. There
had been no attempt on the part of any of his associates
on that afternoon to detain him in town, and his remain-
ing there until the evening had been entirely due to his
own inclinations. So far as was known, he had not been
tollowed by any person after his departure from the Pea-
cock at 7.45. Anyone following would have had no pros-
pect of overtaking him unless mounted on a good horse,

a

ee ee
aa are

SRE ee USED
- oe asta me

[42 Savareen’s Disappearance.

and must perforce have passed through the toll-gate.
According to the testimony of Perry and his wife, nobody
had passed through the gate in his wake, nor for more
than an hour after him. But—mystery of mysteries—
where had he managed to hide himself and his mare dur-
ing the two or three minutes which had elapsed between
his departure from the gate and the arrival there of
Lapierre? And, if he had been murdered, what had
become of his body ?

Had it been at all within the bounds of reason to sus-
pect Stolliver, suspicion would certainly have fallen upon
that personage. But any idea of the kind was altogether
out of the question. Stolliver was a boovris’), uncompan-
ionable fellow, but a more unlikely man to commit such
a serious crime could not have been found in the
whole country side. Again, he could not have had any
conceivable motive for making away with Savareen,
as he had been working all day in the fields and knew
nothing about the four hundred pounds. Besides, a little
quiet investigation proved the thing to be an absolute
tipossibility. At the time of Savareen’s disappearance,
Stolliver had been sitting at his own table, in the company
of his wife, his family, and a grown-up female servant.
He had sat down to table at about a quarter to eight, and
had not risen therefrom until several minutes after the
town bell had ceased to ring. On rising, he had gone out
with his two boys—lads of thirteen and fifteen years of
age respectively—and had barely taken up a position with
them on the front fence when Lapierre came along and
questioned him, as relatedin a former chapter. So it was
certainly not worth while to pursue that branch of enquiry
any farther.

gate.
body
more
ies—

dur-
ween
re of

; had

0 SUS-
upon
rether
npan-
; such
n the
d any
areen,
knew
little
solute
rance,
npany
rvant.
nt, and
r the
e out
bars of
n with
g and
it was
iquiry

——

Savareen's Disappearance. 143

The only other persons upon whom the shadow of sus-
picion could by any possibility fall were Lapierre and
Jonathan Perry. Well, so faras the latter was concerned
the idea was too absurd for serious consideration. To
begin with, Jonathan was seventy-six years of age, fecble
and almost decrepid. Then, he was a man of excellent
character, and, notwithstanding his humble station in life,
was liked and respected by all who knew him. Finally,
he could not have done away with Savareen without the
knowledge and concurrence of his wife, a gentle, kindly
old soul, who found her best consolation between the
covers of her bible, and who would not have raised her
finger against a worm. So that branch of the enquiry
might also be considered as closed.

As to Lapierre, the idea was at least as preposterous as
either of the others, The jovial landlord of the Royal Oak
was on the whole about as likely a man to commit rob-
bery or murder as the bishop of the diocese. He was
of a cheery, open nature; was not greedy or grasping ;
had a fairly prosperous business, and was tolerably well-
to-do, On the night of the 17th, he had undertaken to
go down town and bring home the absent man, but he had
done so at the pressing request of the man’s wife, and out
of pure kindness of heart. When setting out on his mission
he knew nothing about the altercation at the bank, and
was consequently ignorant that Savareen had any con-
siderable sum of money on his person. His first know-
ledge on these subjects had been communicated to him by
Perry, and before that time the man had disappeared. It
also counted for something that Savareen and he had
always been on the most friendly terms, and that Sava-

L44 Savareen’s Disappearance.

reen was one of his best customers. But, even if he had
been the most bloodthirsty of mankind, he had positively
had no time to perpetrate a murder. The two or three
minutes elapsing between Savareen’s departure from the
toll-gate and Lapierre’s arrival there had been too brief to
admit of the latter’s having meanwhile killed the former
and made away with bis body ; to say nothing of his hav-
ing also made such a disposition of the black mare as to
enable it to be found in Cranberry Swamp on the follow-
ing day.

After a while people began to ask whether it was
probable that any murder at all had been committe I.
The finding of the coat was an unfathomable mystery, but
it really furnished no evidence one way or the other.
And if there had been a murder, how was it that no
traces of the body were discoverable 7? How was it that
no ery or exclamation of any kind had been heard by old
Jonathan, sitting there at the door in the open air on a
still night ? It was certain that his ears had been wide
open, and ready enough to take in whatever was stirring,
for he had heard the sound of Count Frontenac’s hoofs as
they came clattering down the road.

Such questions as these were constantly in the mouths
of the people of that neighborhood for some days after
the disappearance, but they met with no satisfactory an-
swer from any quarter, and as the time passed by it began
to be believed that no light would ever be thrown upon
the most mysterious occurrence that had ever taken place
since that part of the country had been first settled. One
of the constables, discouraged by repeated failures, ven-
tured in all seriousness to express a suspicion that Sava-

eS aww

Savareen’s Disappearance. 145

had reen had been bodily devoured by his mare. How else
ively could you account for no trace of him being visible any-
three where ?

“a thé By an unaccountable oversight, Shuttleworth had
‘ief to kept no memorandum of the number of the notes paid
ormer over to Savareen, and it was thus impossible to trace
; hav- them.

as to

vllow-

CHAPTER VIL.

t was “A WIDOW, HUSBANDLESS, SUBJECT TO FEARS.”

yitte l. 6 OREN

ry, but thy "4 HE position of the missing man’s wife was a

other. a We 2\ particularly trying and painful one—a posi- j

at no iH qd. |} tion imperatively calling for the sympathy of |

it that PH the community in which she lived. That tid

by old nese) sympathy was freely accorded to her, but H |
‘on a Ie time alone could bring any thing like tranquillity 11 }

h wide . to a mind harrassed by such manifold anxieties as 1
irring, hers. After a lapse of a few weeks Squire Harrington -

oofs as generously offered to take the farm off her hands, but to iy

this proposal she was for some time loath to assent. In a

nouths spite of her fears and misgivings, fitful gleams of hope fe 7
after that her husband would return tu her flitted across her ae |
ry an- f mind, If he came back he should find her at her post. in :
began Meanwhile the neighbors showed her much kindness,

) upon They voluntarily formed an organisation o labor, and

n place harvested her crops, threshed them out and conveyed

d. One them to market for her. Her brother, a young man of

Is, ven- eighteen, came out from town and took up his abode with

Sava- I

146 Savareen's Disappearance.

her, so that she would not be left wholly desolate among
strangers, And so the summer and autumn glided by.
But this state of things could not last. The strange
solitude of her destiny preyed sorely upon her and when
the first snows of winter arrived, bringing with them no
tidings of the absent one, the fortitude of the bereaved
woman broke down. She gave up the farm, and with her

little baby boy and such of her household belongings as
she chose to retain, went back to the home of her parents
in Millbrook. She was a few hundred dollars better oft
in this world’s goods than she had been when she had left
that home about thirteen months before, but her spirit was
sadly bent, if not altogether broken, and the brightness
seemed to have utterly faded out of her life.

In process of time she became in some degree accus-
tomed, if not reconciled to her lot. But her situation was,
to say the least, anomalous. Her parents were, on the
whole, kind and considerate, but she was conscious of
being, after a fashion, isolated from them and from all the
rest of the world. She felt, as one who was, in the lan-
guage of the proverb, neither maid, wife nor widow. She
knew not whether her child’s father was living or dead.
She was barely twenty-three years of age, but she was
not free to form a second marriage, even if she had had
any inclination for such a union, which, to do her justice,
she had not, for she cherished the memory of her absent
lord with fond affection, and persisted in. believing that,
even if he were tiving, it was through no fault of his own
that he remained away from her. She lived a very quiet
and secluded life. In spite of her mother’s importunities,
she seldom stirred out of doors on week days, and saw few

mong
by.
range
when
2m no
eaved
th her
nes as
arents
ter oft
ad left
rit was
htness

accus-
on was,

on the

ious of
all the

he !an-

vy, she

r dead.
she was
iad had
justice,
* absent
ne that,
his own
ry quiet
tunities,
saw few

Savareen’s Disappearance. 147

visitors, She was a regular attendant at church on Sun-
days, and sought to find relief from mental depression in
the consolations of religion. Her chief consolation, how-
ever, lay in her child, upon whom she lavished all the
tenderness of a soft and gentle nature. She fondly sought
to trace in the little fellow’s bright features some resem-
blance to the lineaments of him she had loved and lost. To
do this suecesstully required a rather strong effort of the
imagination, for, to tell the truth, the boy favored his
mother’s side of the house, and was no more like his father
than he was like the twelve patriarchs. But a fond
mother often lives in an ideal world of her own creation,
and can trace resemblances invisible to ordinary mortals,
So it was with this mother, who often declared that her
boy had a way of “looking out of his eyes,’ as she ex-
pressed it, which forcibly brought back the memory of
happy days which had forever passed away.

Of course Savareen’s relatives in the old country re-
ceived due notice of his strange disappearance, and of the
various circumstances connected with that event. Mrs.
Savareen had herself communicated the facts, and had
also sent over a copy of the Millbrook Sentinel, contain-
ing along and minute account of the affair. <A letter
arrived from Hertfordshire in due course, acknowledging
the receipt of these missives, and enquiring whether the
lost had been found. Several communications passed to
and fro during the first few months, after which, as there
was really nothing further to write about, the correspon-
dence fell off; it being of course understood that should

any new facts turn up, they should be promptly made
known,

foie

ell Pahl dpidaat nH ET Da Wok nos net

|
€i
et
3

‘+

pare ey ean RT OY ta nas mar

i
“4
%
x

I

i}

HA

ii —

| 148 Savareen’s Disappearance.
1

ee The stars do not pause in their spheres to take note
i

reaved woman it seemed unaccountable that the suc-
ceeding months should come and go as formerly, and
We as though nothing had occurred to take the saltness and
Hl savor out of her young life. Ever and anon her slumbers
i were disturbed by weird dreams, in which the lost one
was presented before her in all sorts of frightful

i of the afflictions of us mortals here below. ‘To the be-
1|
i}
|

H | situations. In these dreams which came to her in the
Be a silent watches of the night, she never seemed to
| look upou her husband as dead. He always seemed to |
Ve be living, but surrounded by inextricable complications
Ht involving great trouble and danger. She sometimes awoke |
| from these night visions with a loud ery which startled
i the household, and proved how greatly her nerves had
i been shaken by the untoward circumstances of her fate. t
In the early spring of the ensuing year she sustained t
another painful bereavement through the death of her
ie mother. This event imparted an additional element of 5
bi | sadness to her already cloudy existence; but it was not S
| without certain attendant compensations, as it rendered ty
feu necessary a more active course of life on her part, and so TF
| i left her less time to brood over her earlier sorrow. No u
Oia Benvolio was needed to tell us that Ww
: h
“One fire burns out another’s burning :
| One pain is lessened by another’s anguish.” ;
Hee il
Hed Most of us have at one time or another been forced to m
learn that hard truth for ourselves. This forlorn woman it
eae had probably never read the passage, but her experience ti
bi. brought abundant confirmation of it home to her at this m

ote
be-
uc-
and
and
ers
one
tful
the
to
1 to
ions
oke
tled
had
ate.
ned
her
t of
not
red
1 so

No

1 to
nan
Pnece
this

tl ee oe ote Bl en A MM ee 2 «- f

Savareen's Disappearance. 149

time. She was driven to assume the internal manage-
ment of the household, and found grateful solace in the
occupations which the position involved. She once more
began to take an interest in the prosaic affairs of every-
day life, and became less addicted to looking forward to
a solitary, joyless old age. So that, all things considered,
this second bereavement was not to be regarded in the
light of an afiiction absolutely without mitigation.

It might well have been supposed that the place she
was now called upon to fill would have been the means
of drawing closer the ties between her surviving parent
and herself. For a time it certainly had that effect. Her
presence in his house must have done much to soften the
blow to her father, and her practical usefulness was made
inanifest every hour of the day. She carefully ministered
to his domestie needs, and did what she could to alleviate
the burden which had been laid upon him, But the old,
old story was once more repeated. In little more than a
year from the time her mother had been laid in her grave,
she was made aware of the fact that the household was
to receive a new mistress. In other words, she was to be
introduced to a stepmother. The event followed hard
upon the announcement. As a necessary consequence she
was compelled to assume a secondary place in her father's

house.

It may be true that first marriages are somytimes made
in Heaven. It is even possible that secon marriages
may now and then be forged in the same workshop. But
it was soon brought home to Mrs. Savareen that this par-
ticular marriage was not among the number. Her step-
mother, who was not much older than herself, proved a

pee

yonttig

PTB

i
}
(
i

apne Pointed tinea wena epg af

1,
5s
a
=

eee

150 Savareen's Disappearanee.

i veritable thorn in her side. She was made to perceive
| that she and her little boy were regarded in the light of
encumbrances, to be tolerated until they could be got rid
of. But not passively tolerated. The stepmother was a
rather coarse-grained piece of clay—an unsympathetic,
unfeeling woman, who knew how to say and to do un-
pleasant things without any apparent temper or ill-will.
The immortal clockmaker, when he was in a more
quaintly sententious humor than common, once pro-
pounded the doctrine that the direct road to a mother’s
heart is through her child. He might have added the
: equally incontestable proposition that the most effectual
H)| method of torturing a mother’s heart is through the same
Ht medium. The mother who has an only child, who is all
the world to her, is actually susceptible to anything ti
the shape of interference with her maternal prerogatives.

Such interference, by whomsoever exercised, is wholly in-
tolerable to her. This susceptibility may perhaps be a
feminine weakness, but it is a veritable maternal instinct,
and one with which few who have observed it will have

(
the heart to find fault. In Mrs. Savareen’s bosom this
foible existed in a high state of development, and her
stepmother so played upon it as to make life under the
same roof with her a cross too lard to be borne. After
afew months’ trial, the younger of the two women re- (

solved that a new home must be found for herself and
her little boy. The carrying out of this resolve rendered
some consideration necessary’, for her own unaided means
were inadequate for her support. Her father, though not
what could be called a poor man, was far from rich, and
he had neither the means nor the will to maintain two

Ve

it of

t rid

aS a

etic,
) un-
will.
more
pro-
her’s
1 the
etual
same
is all
ng tia
Lives.
y in-
be a
tinct,
have
. this
1 her
r the
After
on re-
' and
dered
neans
h not
1, and
n two

Savareen's Disappearance. [51

establishinents, however humble. But she was expert
with her needle, and did not despair of being able to pro-
vide for the slender wants of herself and child. She
rented and furnished a small house in the town, where
she found that there was no ground for present anxiety
as to her livelihood. There was plenty of needlew clk to
be had to keep her nimble fingers busy from morn till
night, and her income from the first was in excess of her
expenditure. She was constrained to lead a humdrum
sort of existence, but it was brightened by the presence
and companionship of her boy, who was a constant source
of pride and delight to her. Whenever she caught herself
indulging in a despondent mood, she took herself severely
to task for repining at a Jot which might have lacked
this element of bright’ .ss, and which lacking that, would,
it seemed to her, have been too dreary for human en-
durance.

No useful purpose would be served by lingering over
this portion of the narrative. Suffice it to say that the
current of the lonely woman’s life flowed sinoothly on for
several years, during which she received no tidings of her
lost husband and heard nothing to throw the faintest
seintilla of light upon his mysterious disappearance,
Little Reginald grew apace, and continued to be the one
consolation in her great bereavement—the solitary joy
which reconciled her to her environment.

152 Savareen’s Disappearance.

CHAPTER VIII.

A GUEST ARRIVES AT THE ROYAL OAK,

By month of August, 1859, The harvest all along
Vl the Millbrook and Spotswood road was in full
», progress. And a bounteous harvest it was,
even for that favored region. Squire Har-
rington confidently counted upon a yield of fifty
bushels of wheat to the acre. ‘True, he was a

model farmer, and knew how to make the most of a good
season, but his neighbors were not far behind him, and
were looking forward to full granaries when threshing
should be over. For once there was little or no grum-
bling at the dispensations of Providence. The weather had
been as propitious as though the local tillers of the
soil had themselves had a voice in the making of it, and
even gruff Mark Stolliver was constrained to admit that
there were fewer gy nds for remonstrating with the

Great Disposer of ’ chan usual at this season of the
year. Every wv -id in the township presented an ac-

tive spectacle ti.. ughout the day. The cradles were bus-
ily plied from early morn till nightfall, and the swaths of
golden grain furnished heavy work for the rakers and
binders. The commercial crisis of 1857 had made itself
felt in the district, as well as in all other parts of Upper
Canada. Many of the farmers had fallen considerably

Savareen's Disappearance. 153 i ,

behindhand, and had for once in a way felt the grip of |
hard times, But the prolific crops which were now being il)

. v ’ . ’ ,
gathered in bade fair to extricate them from such obliga- 1

tions as they had been compelled to incur, and the pre- H|
vailing tone was one of subdued though heartfelt satisfae-

tion. qi]
On the evening of Saturday, the 13th of the month, if
f the sundry of the yeomen who lived thereabouts assembled ij
along at Lapierre’s, after a hard week’s work, to congratulate 1)
n full one another on the prospects of the harvest, and to dis- |
; was, cussa few tankards of the reaming ale for which the |
Har- Royal Oak was famous throughout the township. The
t fifty landlord himself was on hand as usual, to dispense the
vas a hospitalities of his bar and larder. The five years which
, good had rolled over his head since that memorable night of
1, and Savareen’s disappearance had left but slight traces of i
‘shing their passage upon his jovial countenance. He had never int
srum- been able to fathom the impenetrable secret of that |
er had strange July night, but he had all along been wont to re- at
of the mark that the mystery would be cleared up some day, f
t, and and that he confidently expected to hear some tidings of | i
5 that the missing man hefore he died. As for his guests, though i
h the most of them had resided in the neighborhood at the time He
of the of his disappearance, they had long ceased to give them- |
an ac- selves any particular concern about the matter. So long ae
e bus- as there had seemed to be any prospect of getting at the |
ths of bottom of the affair they had taken a vigorous part in |
‘gs and the search, and had exerted themselves to bring the mys- ‘i
itself tery to light ; but when month succeeded month without I
Upper supplying any clue to the puzzle, they had gradually re- (it
erably signed themselves to the situation, and, except when the i

DSWD Dr” Por

Doge ee ee

g FARRELL AE a a seme on
—— ~ —

154 Savareen’s Disappearance.

topic came up for discussion at their Saturday night meet-
ings, they seldom indulged in anything more than a pass-
ing allusion to it.

Ten o'clock had struck, and it seemed improbable that
any furthercompany would arrive. The assembled guests,
to the number of seven or eight, sat in their accustomed
places around a goodly-sized table in the room behind the
bar. Lapierre occupied an e vy chair, placed near the
door communicating with the bar, so as to be handy in
case of his being needed there. Farmer Donaldson had
just regaled the circle with his favorite ditty, The Roast
Beef of Old England, which he flattered himself he
could render with fine effect. Having concluded his per-
formance, he sat modestly back in his elbow-chair, and
bowed to the vociferous plaudits accorded to him. The
tankards were then charged afresh, and each man devoted
himself to the allaying of his thirst for the next minute or
two. Mine host had promised to give Faintly as Tolls
the Evening Chime in the course of the evenin
now called upon to redeem his pledge.

“ Ah,” he remarked, “that vas alvays a faforite song of
wine. And ton't you remember how font of it our frient
Safareen used to pe? He used to call for it regular efery
Saturday night, schoost pefore supper in the old times.
Ah, put that wassa strange peesiness. I haf never peen
aple to think of it without perspiring.” And so saying
he dived into the pocket of his white linen jacket, and
produced therefrom a red silk handkerchief, with which
he mopped his beaming countenance until it shone again,

“Ay,” responded Farmer Donaldson, “that was the
strangest thing as ever happened in these parts. I wonder
if it will ever be cleared up.”

o, and was

>?

-—

neet-
pass-

that
ests,
omed
d the
: the
ly in
. had
Roast
If he
5 per-
, and
The
voted
ite or

Tolls

1 was

mg of
frient
efery
imes.

peen
hying
, and
vhich
A gain,
s the
onder

Savareen’s Disappearance. 15

“st

“You know my opinion apout that,” resumed the host,
“ J alvays said he vould turn up. But it is—iet me see—
yes, it is more that fife years ago. It wass on the night
of the sefenteenth of Chooly, 1854; and here it is, the
‘uittle of Aucust, 3859. Vell, vell, how the years go py !
Safareen was a coot sort. [ thought much of him, and
woot like to see him once acain.”

“| don’t say but what he was a good fellow,” remarked
one of the company ; “but I can tel] you he had a devil
of a temper of his own when his blood was up. I re-
member one night in this very room when he had some
words with Sam Dolsen about that black mare o’ his’n.
He fired up like a tiger, and that sear on his cheek glow-
ed like a carbunele. It seemed as if it was going to crack
open, I made sure he was going to drop into Sam, and
he would ’a done, too, if our landlord hadn’t interfered
and calmed him down.”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted Farmer Donaldson ; “ Savareen
had his tempers, no doubt, when he had been drinking
more free than common; but he was a jolly feller, all
the same. I wish he was with us at this moment.”

This sentiment was pretty generally re-ecnoed all
round the festive board. Just then a rather heavy foot-
step was heard to enter the adjoining bar-room from
outside. The landlord rose and passed out through the
doorway, to see if his services were required, The door of
communication was left open behind him, so that the
company in the inner room had no difticuley in seeing
and hearing everything that took place,

In the middle of thé bar room stood a short, heavy-set
man, whose dress and bearing pronounced him to be a

if '
aa
Hy 156 Savarcen's Disappearance.
[ i stranger in those parts. He was apparently middle-aged ,
f ie —say somewhere between thirty-five and forty. His ‘
i clothing was of expensive material, but cut after a style I
more prononce than was then seen in Canada, or has ever |
since been much in vogue here. His hat was a broad- lL
brimmed Panama, which cost twenty dollars if it cost a
penny. His coat, so far as could be seen under his thin f,
summer duster—was of fine bluish cloth, short of waist,
long of srt, and--the duster notwithstanding--plentifully
besprinkled and travel-stained with dust. The waistcoat, ‘
which seemed to be of the same material as the coat, was
very open-breasted, and displayed a considerable array of ‘i
shirt front. Across the left side was hung a heavy gold
watch-chain, from which depended two great bulbous- .
looking seals. On his feet he wore a pair of gaiters of |
| patent leather, white from the dust of the road, In one st
4 ly hand he carried a light, jaunty Malacca cane, while the ai
¥ ate other grasped a Russian-leather portmanteau, called by
fb him and by persons of his kind a valise. He wore no
a gloves—a fact which enabled you to see on the middle ik
“f finger of his left hand a huge cluster diamond ring, worth Pe
fl any price from a thousand dollars upwards. His face =
un was closely shaven, except for a prominent moustache. LV
He had erisp, curling black hair, worn tolerably short. P
ae } His eyes were rather dull and vacant, not because he was
bet F either slow or stupid, but because he felt or affected to i]
ee feel, a sublime indifference to all things sublunary. You a
re would have taken him for a man who had run the gaunt-
i tl let of all human experiences—a man to whom nothing ‘
ee presented itself in the light of a novelty, and who dis- =
i dained to appear much interested in anything you might S]

ie

SRS ET SEE TON,

\ }
Jah dy

-aged

His
style
s ever
road-
20st a
s thin
waist,
ifully
steoat,
t, was
ray of
; gold
lbous-
ers of
in one
e the
ed by
re no
niddle
worth
s face
tache.
short.
e was
ed to
You
raunt-
thing
b dis-
night

Savareen’s Disappearance. 157

say or do. Taken altogether he had that foreign or rather
cosmopolitan look characteristic of the citizen of the
United States who has led an unsettled, wandering life.
His aspect was fully borne out by his accent, when he
began to speak.

“Air you the landlord?” he asked, as the host stepped
forward to greet him.

He received a reply in the attirmative.

“ This, then, is the Royal Oak tavern, and your name
is Lapierre ?”

Two nods signified the host’s further assent to these
undeniable propositions.

“Have you got a spare bedroom, and can you put me
up from now till Monday morning ?”

The landlord again signitied his assent, whereupon thie
stranger put down his cane and portmanteau on a bench
and proceeded to divest himself of his wrapper.

“You haf had supper ?” asked Lapierre.

“Well, | had a light tea down to Millbrook, but |
know your Saturday night customs at the Royal Oak,
and if you hain’t got any objections Id like to takea
hand in your eleven o'clock supper. To tell the truth,
['m sharp-set, and I know you always have a bite of
something appetizing about that time.”

Upon being informed that supper would be ready at
the usual hour, and that he would be welcome to a seat
at the board, he signified a desire to be shown to his
room, so that he could wash and make himself present-
able. In response to an enquiry about his horse, he inti-
mated that that animal for the present consisted of
Shank’s mare; that he had ridden up from town with

oT

a SE

ty
|
'B

sa SEI tenes bls CORTE a lee sn ine

oe he me . enemieerion
Si

SS

a

SIT

Soba aes

woe oa

ter teem, Soe

SSS il SA

eee

i
1
i
]

158 Savareen’s Disappearance.

Squire Harrington, and dismounted at that gentleman's
gate. “The Squire offered to drive me on as far as
here,” he added; “but as it was only a short walk I
reckoned I’d come on afoot.”

Without further parley the guest was shown to his
chamber, whence he emerged a few minutes later, and
presented himself before the company assembled in the
room behind tbe bar.

“ Hope I ain’t intruding, gentlemen,” he remarked, as
he took a vacant seat at the lower end of the table; “I’ve
often heard of the good times you have here on Satur-
day nights. Heard of ’em when I was a good many hun-
dred miles from here, and when I didn’t expect ever to
have the pleasure of Joining your mess. Guess I’d better
introduce myself. My name’s Thomas Jefferson Haskins.
[ live at Nashville, Tennessee, where [ keep a hotel and
do a little in horseflesh now an’ agin. Now, I shall take
it as a favor if youll allow the landlord to re-fill your
glasses at my expense, and then drink good-luck to my
expedition,” All this with much volubility, and without
a trace of bashfulness,

The company ail round the table signified their hearty
acquiescence, and while the landlord was replenishing the
tankards, the stranger proceeded to further enlighten
them respecting his personal affairs. He informed them
that a man had cleared out from Nashville about six
months ago, leaving him, the speaker, in the lurch to the
tune of twenty-seven hundred dollars, A few days since
he had learned that the fugitive had taken up his quar-

ters at Spotswood, in Upper Canada, and he had accord-
ingly set out for that place with intent to obtain a settle-

man’s
far as

ralk I

to his
r, and
n the

ed, as
“T’ve
Satur-
y hun-
ver to
better
iskins.
el and
1 take
| your
to my
ithout

hearty
ng the
ighten

them
out six
to the
s since
3 quar-
accord-
settle-

Savareen’s Disappearance. 159

ment. He had reached Millbrook by the seven o'clock
express this evening, only to find that he was still fifteen
miles from his destination. Upon inquiry, he learned
that the stage from Millbrook for Spotswood ran only
once a day, leaving Millbrock at seven o’clock in th«
morning. ‘There would not be another stage until Mon-
day morning. He was on the point of hiring a special
conveyance, and of driving through that night, v* all
of a sudden he had remembered that Lapierre. .avern
was on the Millbrook and Spotswood road, and only three
miles away. He had long ago heard such accounts of the
Royal Oak and its landlord, and particula:ly of the Sat-
urday night suppers, that he had resolved to repair
thither and remain over for Monday’s stage. “T was
going to hire a livery to bring me out here,” he added,
“but a gentleman named Squire Harrington, who heard
me give the order for the buggy, told me he lived close
by the Royal Oak, and that I was welcome to ride out
with him, as he was just going to start for home. That
saved me a couple of dollars. And so, here I be.”

Lapierre could not feel otherwise than highly flattered
by the way the stranger referred to his establishment,
but he was wholly at a loss to understand how the fame
of the Royal Oak, and more especially of the Saturday
night suppers, had extended to so great a distance as
Nashville. In response to his inquiries on these points,
however, Mr. Thomas Jefferson Haskins gave a clear and
lucid explanation, which will be found in the next
chapter.

pquueaaian inneuma yume Seca

ee =
PEP Aa et ht OBERT E meni Sy ete 2

Savareen’s Disappearance.

CHAPTER IX.

THE GUEST CREATES A SENSATION AT THE ROYAL OAK.

quite so far offas Nashville. It was when

I was travelling in Kentucky buying horses,

last year. At Lexington I[ fell in with an

English chap named Randall, who used to

live in this neighborhood, I hired him to buy
horses for me. He was with me about three
months, an’ if [ could only ‘a’ kept him sober he’d been
with me yet, for he was about as keen a judge of a horse
as ever I came across in my born days, and knew mighty
well how to make a bargain. Well, we hadn’t been to-
gether a week afore he begun to tell me about a place
Where he used to live in Canada West, where he said a
little money went a long way, and where good horses
could be bought cheap. He wanted me to send him up
here to buy for me, and I don’t know but I should ’a’
done it if Pd found he was to be trusted. But he would
drink like all creation when he had money. Old Bour-
bon was a thing he couldn’t resist. He had an awful
poor opinion of all the rest of our American institootions,
and used to say they wa’n’t 0’ no account as compared to
what he used to have to home in England; but whenitcome
to Bourbon whisky, he was as full-mouthed as Uncle
Henry Clay himself. He ‘lowed there wa’n’t anything

LL OAK.

of you
; when
horses,
vith an
used to
to buy
t three
’d been
a horse
mighty
been to-
a place
said a
horses
him up
uld ’a’
would
1 Bour-
awful
otions,
ared to
itcome
Uncle
ything

Savareen’s Desappearance. 101

either in Kngland or in Canada to touch it. An’ when
he got four or five inches of it inside him, there was no
gittin’ along with him nohow. There wa’n’t anything on
airth he wouldn't do to git a couple of inches more, and
when he got them he was the catawamptiousest critter I
ever did see. You couldn’t place any more dependence
on him than ona free nigger, Besides, he used to ne-
glect his wife, and a man who neglects his wife ain't a
man to trust with a couple o’ thousand dollars at a time.
No sir-ree! Not much, he ain’t. But,as I was sayin’,
the way he used to harp on this place o’ Lapierre’s was a
caution. Whenever we usec to git planted down in one
of our cross-road taverns, he'd turn up his nose till you
could see clean down his throat into his stommick. The
fact is, our country taverns ain’t up to much, an’ some-
times | could hardly stand em myself. When we'd come
in after a hard day’s ridin’, and git sot down to a feed of
heavy short-cake and fat pork, then Randall ‘ud begin
to blow about the grub up here at Lapierre’s. He used
to tell about the hot suppers served up here to a passel
o farmers on Saturday nights till I most got sick o’
hearing him. But I see your mugs air empty again, gen-
tlemen. Landlord, please to do your dooty, and score it
up to yours truly.”

During this long harangue the assembled guests alter-
nately scanned the speaker and each other with inquir-
ing but vacant countenances, They were puzzling them-
selves to think who this Randall could be, as no man of
that name had ever been known in that community.
When Mr. Haskins paused in his discourse, and gave his
order for replenishment, Farmer Donaldson was about to

J

Ee
i
ae |
22 }
1.
‘
2
i. &
Lig
Cpe.

162 Savareen’s Disappearance.

. | remonstrate against this second treat at the expense of a
Wh stranger, and to propose that he himself should stand
Hi sponsor for the incoming refreshments. But before he
could get out a word, the landlord suddenly sprang from

his seat with a white, agitated face.

“Tell me,” he said, addressing the stranger—‘ What

Hie like is this Rantall? Please to tescripe his features.”

t “Well,” drawled the person addressed, after a short

pause—* there ain’t much to describe about him. He’s

|
| a tallish feller—fully four inches taller’n I be. He’s
Le broad and stout—a big man ginerally. Weighs, I should
if say, not much under a hundred and ninety. Ruther |
light complected, and has a long cut in his face that
: | shows awful white when he gits his back up. Thunder !
Wh he pretty nearly scared me with that gash one night
eh when he was drunk, Itseemed to open and shut like a 1
i tH clam-shell, and made him look like a Voodoo priest! :
a i You'd think the blood was goan to spurt out by the é
: | yard.”
4 By this time every pair of eyes in the room was staring é
Hi : into the speaker's face with an expression of bewildered f
uy ‘ astonishment. Not a man there but recognized the i
; ie description as a vivid, if somewhat exaggerated por- 8
ie traiture of the long-lost Reginald Bourchier Savareen. t
4 The stranger from Tennessee readily perceived that he h

had produced a genuine sensation. He gazed from one
i to another for a full minute without speaking. Then he

| gave vent to his surcharged feelings by the exclamation : st
| | “For the land’s sake !” 0
i An air of speechless bewilderment still pervaded the 0
qe entire group. They sat silent as statues, without motion, fc

and almost without breath.

e of a
stand
ore he
x from

‘ What

es,”

» short
He's
He’s

should

Ruther

ce that

hunder !

e night

it, like a

priest |

by the

5 staring
vildered
zea the
ed por-
Areen.
that he
rom one
Then he
hmation :

ded the
t motion,

Savareen's Dtsappearance. 163

Lapierre was the first to recover himself. By a sig-
nificant gesture he imposed continued silence wpon the
company, and began to ask questions. He succeeded in
eliciting some further pertinent information.

Haskins was unable to say when Randall had acquired
a familiarity with the ways and doings of the people
residing in the vicinity of the Royal Oak, bu! it must
have been some time ago, as he had lived in the States
long enough to have become acquainted wish various
localities there. As to when and why he had J.ft Canada
the stranger was also totally ignorant. He new, how-
ever, that Randall was living in the city of New York
about three months ago, as he had seen him there, and
had visited him at his lodgings on Amity street in May,
when he (Haskins) had attended as a delegate to a sport-
ing convention, At that time Randall had been employ-
ed in some capacity in Hitcheock’s sale stable, and made
a few dollars now and again by breeding dogs. He lived
a needy hand-to-mouth existence, and his poor wife had
a hard time of it. His drinking habits prevented him
from getting ahead in the world, and he never staid long
in one place, but the speaker had no doubt that he might
still be heard of at Hitcheock’s by ansybody who wanted
to hunt him up. “ But,’ added Mr. Haskins, “I hope J
haven't got him into trouble by coming here to-night.
Has he done anything? Anything criminal, I mean ?”

After a moment’s deliberation, J.apierre told the whole
story. There was no doubt in the mind of any member
of the company that Randall and Savareen were “parts
of one stupendous whole.” The one important question
for consideration was: What use ought to be made of
the facts thus strangely brouyht to light ?

+h
ie
6 3
t

164 Savareen's Disappearance,

By this time supper was announced, and the stranger's
news, exciting as it was, did not prevent the guests from
doing ample justice to it. Haskins was loud in his
praises of the “spread,” as he termed it. “Jack Randall,”
he remarked, “ could lie when he had « mind to, but he
told the holy truth when he bragged you up as far ahead
of the Kentucky cooks, Yes, I don’t mind if I do take
another mossel of that frickersee. Dog me if it don’t
beat canvas-backs,”

Before the meeting broke up it was agreed on all hands
that for the present it would be advisable for the guests
to allow the morrow to pass before saying anything to
their wives or anyone else about Mr, Haskins’ disclosures.
It was further resolved that that gentleman should ac-
company Lapierre to Millbrook after breakfast in the
morning, and that Mrs, Savareen’s father should be made
acquainted with the known facts. It was just possible,
after all, that Jack Randall might be Jack Randall, and
not Savareen, in which case it was desirable to save the
lost man’s wife from cruel agitation to no purpose. It
would be for her father, after learning all that they knew,

to communicate the facts to her or to withhold them, as
might seem besi to him. On this understanding the
company broke up on the stroke of midnight. I am by
no means prepared to maintain that their pledges were
in all cases kept, and that they each and every one went
to sleep without taking their wives into confidence
respecting the strange disclosures of the night.

nger’s
; from
in his
ndall,”
but he
ahead
io take
t don’t

| hands
guests
ling to
losures.
uld ac-
in the
e made
possible,
all, and
ave the
se. It
, knew,
hem, as
ng the
am by
es were
he went
fidence

Savareen’s Disappearance. 165

CAAPTER NX.

NO. 77 AMITY STREET.
pao -
V7 ran HE next day was Sunday, but this cireum-
a, “stance did not deter Lapierre from hitching

VAS 6) up his horse and conveying his guest down
; 2 FY s ¥ : r .
«~~ A7S to Millbrook at an early hour, The pair

nw called at the house of Mis. Savareen’s father
ry before ten o'clock, and hada long interview with
him. Church services began at eleven, but it was
remarked by the Methodist congregation, and commented
upon as a thing almost without precedent, that Mrs.
Savareen and her father were both absent on that day,
The old gentleman was much disturbed by what he
heard from Mr. Haskins. His daughter had passed
through an ordeal of great suffering, and had finally be-
come reconciled to her lot. ‘To tell her this news would
be to open the old wounds afresh, and to bring back the
domestic grief which time had about dispelled. Yet his
course seemed clear, To tell her the truth was an im-
perative duty. It would be shameful to permit her to
go on mourning for one who was in every way unworthy,
and who might turn up at any unexpected moment to
the destruction of her peace of mind. Moreover, the
secret was already known tu too many persons to admit
of any hope that it would be permanently kept. She
must be told, and there could be no question that her

:
p
iF

PLES 0 AMG NE AMT AER AD em

‘
i
;

mesg,

etna atracamarepennen noun tet «sine Bite

Hh

Wiis “ ) .

' 166 Savareen’s Disappearance.
\
t
{

father was the proper person to tell her. She would,
Hh however, wish to personally see and converse with the

| i man who had brought the news, so there was no time to
| if be lost. Leaving his two visitors to await his return,
Ht the old man set out with a sad heart for his daughter's
| house. He found her and her little boy just ready to set ;
| f out for church, but the first glanee at her father’s face :
HT f told her that something had happened, and that there
i he would be no echurch-going for that day. She sat pale :
is and trembling as she listened, and the old iman himself :
i] Hh was not much more composed. He broke the news as .
iH gently as he could, and she bore it better than he had C
Hh : expected, suppressing her agitation, and taking in all the _
Hi || | details without interruption, Even when all the cireum- t
i } stances had been laid before her, her self-ecommand did a
: i not desert her. Yes, she must see the stranger from :
t Tennessee. Possibly she might extract something from i
| him which others had failed to elicit. Her father ac-
Et cordingly went back to his own home, and brought Mr. ‘J
i es Haskins over. The three spent several hours in talking ©
Al of the affair, but the stranger had nothing more to tell,
he and finally took his leave, promising to call on his way d
ee back from Spotswood.
“te Father and daughter spent the evening together, and .
Ha tried to reach some definite conclusion as to what, if any- =
ae thing, ought to be done. There could be no reasonable 5
| doubt that Randall and Savereen were one. Since there n
he was just the shadow of doubt, and the want of absolute ™
ii certainty, made it impossible for Mrs. Savareen to leave :
the matter as it stood. She felt that she must know the d
al

1 whole truth,

‘ould,
1 the
me to
‘turn,
hter’s
to set
s face
there
t pale
mself
WS as
» had
Jl the
reum-
d did
from
from

any-
nable
there

Savareen's Disappearance. 167

A course was finally decided upon. Father and daughter
would start for New York without delay and probe the
matter to the bottom. The news could not wholly be
kept from the stepmother, but she was enjoined to main-
tain a strict silence on the subject until further light
should be thrown uponit. Master Reginald was tempor-
arily left in her charge.

They started for New York by the mid-day express on
Monday, and reached their destination on Tuesday after-
noon, Lodgings were secured at a quiet, respectable hotel,
and then the old man set out alone to hunt up Hitch-
cock’s stable. He had no difficulty in finding it, and the
man in charge of the office readily gave him the informa-
tion he sought. Jack Randall was no longer employed
at the establishment, but he lodged with his wife at No.
77 Amity street. The best time to catch him at home
was early in the morning. He was of a convivial turn,
and generally spent his evenings about town. He was
supposed to be pretty hard up, but that was his chronic
condition, and, so far as known, he was not in absolute
want. With these tidings the father returned to his
daughter.

Mrs. Savareen could not bear the idea of permitting the
evening to pass without some further effort. She deter-
inined to pay a visit to 77 Amity street, in person, and if
possible to sce the man’s wife for herself. A servant-maid
in the hotel undertook to pilot her to her destination,
which was but a short distance away. It was about eight
o'clock when she set out and the light of day was fast
disappearing. Upon reaching the corner of Amity street
and Broadway, she dismissed her attendant and made the

168 Savareen's Disappearance.

rest of the journey alone. The numbers on the doors of
the houses were a sutticient direction for her, and she
soon found herself ringing at the bell of 77.

Her summons was answered by a seedy-looking porter.
Yes, Mrs. Randall was upstairs in her room on the third
story. Mr. Randall was out. The lady could easily find
the way for herself. Second door to the left on the third
flat. Straight up. And so saying the man disappeared
into the darkness at the rear of the house, leaving the
visitor to greup her way up two dimly-lighted stairways
as best she could.

The place was evidently a lodging-house of very infer-
ior description to be so near the palatial temples of com-
merce just round the corner. The halls were uncarpeted,
and, indeed, without the least sign of furniture of any
sort. As Mrs. Savareen slowly ascended one flight of
stairs after another, she began to wonder if she had not
done an unwise thing in venturing alone into a house and
locality uf which she knew nothing. Having reached the
third story she found herself in total darkness, except for
such faint twilight as found its way through a_ back
window. This however was just sufticient to enable her
to perceive the second door on the left. She advanced to-
wards it and knocked. A female voice responded by an
invitation to enter. She quietly turned the knob of the
door and advanced into the room.

rs of
| she

orter.
third
- find
third
eared
* the
ways

infer-
com-
veted,
f any
ht of
lL not
se and
2d the
vt for
back
le her
ad to-
by an
f the

Savareen’s Disappearance. 169

CHAPTER XI.

AN INTERVIEW BY CANDLELIGHT.

1
|

\
ie
Hr

ee HE apartment in which the “ bold discoverer
2¢ in an unknown sea” found herself presented
) un appearance far from cheerful or attractive.
St It was of small dimensions, but too large for
x the meagre supply of furniture it contained.
ae The unpapered walls displayed a monotonous sur-
face of bare whitewash in urgent need of renewal.
In one corner was an impoverished looking bed, on which
reposed an infant of afew months old. At the foot of
the bed was a cheap toilet stand, with its accessories.
In the adjacent corner was a door apparently opening
into a closet or inner receptacle of some kind, against
which was placed a battered leather trunk with a broken
hasp. <A small table of stained pine, without any cover-
ing, stood near the middle of the room, and two or three
common wooden chairs were distributed here and there
against the walls. The faint light of expiring day found
admission by means of a window looking out upon the
roofs to the rear of the house. The only artificial light
consisted of a solitary e»ndle placed on the table, at che far
end of which sat a woman engaged in sewing.
The light, dim and inetfectual as it was, served to show
that this woman was in a state of health which her
friends, if she had any, must have deemed to be anything

Ap

\ FF
WA

<_

=:

i
|
ii
}
b iF
> i
4
ft

ats sare Fa A

H 170 Savareen’s Disappearance.

but satisfactory. It was easy to perceive that she had
once possessed an attractive and rather pretty face.
Some portion of her attractiveness still remained, but the
beauty had been washed away by privation and misery,

mit leaving behind nothing but a faint simulacrum of its
Bi former self. She was thin and fragile to the point of
eid |i . :

i hi emaciation, insomuch that her print dress hung upon her

as loosely as a morning wrapper. Her cheeks were sun-
i ken and hollow, and two dark patches beneath a pair of
| large blue eyes plainly indicated serious nervous waste.
In addition to these manifest signs of a low state of
bodily health, her pinched features had a worn, weary
expression which told a sad tale of long and continuous
Hy suffering. Most of these things her visitor, with feminine
quickness of perception, took in at the first momentary

a, ; ° oy: :

i He glance, and any pre-conceived feeling of hostility which
a may have had a place in her heart vave way to a senti-
Ht ment of womanly sympathy. Clearly enough, any dis-

play of jealous anger would be wholly out of place in
such a presence and situation.

Mrs. Savareen had not given much _pre-consideration
as to her line of action during the impending interview.
She had merely resolved to be guided by circumstances,
and what she saw before her made her errand one of
some difticulty. Her main object, of course, was to ascer-
H tain, beyond the possibility of doubt, whether the man
nee calling himself Jack Randall was the man known to her
| | as Reginald Bourchier Savareen.
|

le The tenant of the room rose as her visitor entered, and
even that slight exertion brought on a hollow cough
which was pitiful to hear.

ETS PT Te
Tee
i

1
U

Savareen’s Disappearance. 171

had “T am sorry to see,” gently remarked the visitor, “ that | F
— you are far from well.” Hit
the “ Yes,” was the reply ; “I’ve got a cold, and ain’t very |
ery, smart. Take a chair.’ And so saying, she placed a Hi
ae chair in position, and made a not ungraceful motion |
t of towards it with her hand. ih
her Mrs. Savareen sat down, and began to think what she |
dase? would say next. Her hostess saved her from much !
r of thought on the matter by enquiring whether she had
sete: called to see Mr. Randall. .
e of “Yes,” replied Mrs. Savareen, “I would like to see him ;
rary for a few moments, if convenient.” '
hats “Well, J am sorry he’s out, and I don’t suppose he'll
saa be in for some time. He's generally out in the fore part |
“ary of the evening ; but he’s most always home in the morn-
hich ing. Is it anything I can tell him ?”
ntl Here was a nice complication. Had Mrs, Savareen
dis- been a student of Moliere, the fitting reply to such a |
‘los question under such circumstances would doubtless have 3
; risen to her lips. But [ shrewdly suspect that she had ‘
von never heard of the famous Frenchman, whose works were '
epee probably an unknown quantity in Millbrouk in those ]
pacic days. After a momentary hesitation she fenced with the
e of question, and put one in her turn.
or “Do you know if he has heard from his friends in
pitas Hertfordshire lately ?”
her “ Hertfordshire? O, that is the place he comes from
in the Old Country. No, he never hears from there. I
and have often wanted him to write to his friends in England,
ugh but he says it is so long since he left that they have for-

gotten all about him.” Here the speaker was interrupted
by another fit of coughing,

[72 Saiareen’s Disappearance.

“No,” she resumed, “ he never even wrote to England
to tell his friends when we were married. He was only
a boy when he left home, and he was a good many years
in Canady before'he came over to the States.”

Just at this point it seemed to occur to Mrs. Randall
that she was talking rather freely about her husband to
a person whom she did not know, and she pulled herself
up with a rather short turn. She looked intently into
her visitor's face for a moment, as though with an in-
ward monition that something was wrong.

“ But,” she resumed, after a brief pause, “do you know
wy husband? I can’t remember as I ever seen you be-
fore. You don't live in New York: I can see that. I
guess you come from the West.”

Then Mrs. Savareen felt that some explanation was
necessary. She fairly took the animal by the extreme
tip of his horns.

“ Yes,” she responded, “I live in the West, and I have
only been in New York avery short time. I accidentally
heard that Mr. Randall lived here, and I wish to ascer-
tain if he is the same gentleman I once knew in Canada,
If he is, there is something of importance [ should like to
tell him. Would you be so kind as to describe his per-
sonal appearance for me ?”

The woman again inspected her very carefully, with
eyes not altogether free from suspicion.

“T don’t exactly understand,” she exclaimed. “ You
don’t want to do him any harm, do you? You haven't
got anything agin him? We are in deep enough trouble
as it is,”

The last words were uttered ina tone very much re-

gland
s only
vears

undall
ind to
erself
- into
n in-

know
u be-
1 oe |

was
reine

have
tally
iscer-
nada,
ke to

per-

with

You
ven't
uble

h re-

Savareen's Disappearance. 173

sembling a wail of despair, by this time the visitor's
sympathies were thoroughly aroused on behalf of the
poor broken creature before her.

She felt that she had not the heart to add to the bur-
den of grief which had been imposed upon the frail wo-
man who sat there eyeing her with anxiety depicted upon
her weary, anxious face,

“JT can assure you,’ responded Mrs. Savareen, “that I
have no intention of doing any harm either to him or to
you. I would much rather do you a kindness, if I could,
I can see for myself that you stand in great need of kind-
ness.”

The last words were spoken in a tone which disarmed
suspicion, and which at the same time stimulated curios-
ity. The shadow on Mrs. Randall’s face passed away.

“Well,” said she, “I beg your pardon for mistrusting
you, but my husband has never told me much about his
past life, and I was afraid you might be an enemy. But
I am sure, now I look at you, that you wouldn’t do harm
to anybody. Ill tell you whatever you want to know,
if I can.”

“Thank you for your good opinion. Will you be good
enough, then, to describe Mr. Randall's personal appear-
ance? I have no other object than to find out if he is
the person I used to know in Canada.”

“ How long ago did you know him in Canady /”

“T saw him last in the summer of 1854—-about five

years ago.”

“Well, at that rate I’ve known him pretty near as long
as you hev. It’s more’n four years since I first got ac-
quainted with him down, in Ole Virginny, where I was

— oe

Se

iy
mee)
Bh
We
nt |
ip
i}

Bio. Bie mien

174 Savareen's Disappearance.

raised. Why, come to think of it, I’ve got his likeness,
took just before we was married. That'll show you
whether he’s the man you knew.”

As she spoke, she rose and opened the leather trunk in
the corner by the closet door. After rummaging among
its contents, she presently returned with a small oval
daguerreotype in herhand. Opening the ease she handed
it to Mrs. Savareen. ‘“ There he is,” she remarked, “an’
it’s considered an awful good likeness.”

Mrs, Savareen took the daguerreotype and approached
the candle. The first glance was amply sutticient. It
was the likeness of her husband.

She made up her mind as to her line of action on the
instant. Her love for the father of her child died away
as she gazed on his picture. It was borne in upon her
that he was a heartless scoundrel, unworthy of any wo-
man’s regard, Before she withdrew her glance from the
daguerreotype, her love for him was dead and buried be-
yond all possibility of revivification. What vould it
avail her to still further lacerate the heart of the unhappy
woman in whose presence she stood ? Why kill her out-
right by revealing the truth? There was but a step—
and evidently the step was ashort one—between her and
the grave. The distance should not be abridged by any
act of the lawful wife.

She closed the case and quietly handed it back to the
woman, whom it will still be convenient to call Mrs.
Randall. “I see there has been some misunderstanding,”
she said. “This is not the Mr. Randall I knew in Can-
ada,”

eness,
f you

nk in
mong

oval
nded

“ ’

an

iched
It

n the
VWay
. her
Wo-
1) the
lL be-
ld it
appy
Out-
ep—
‘and
any

» the
Mrs.
ee |
ing,

Can-

Savareen's Disappearance. 175

In her kind consideration for the invalid, she deliber-
ately conveyed a false impression, though she spoke
nothing more than the simple truth. There had indeed
been “some misunderstanding,” and Savareen’s likeness

was certainly not the likeness of Mr. Randall. As matter
of fact, Mrs, Savareen had really known a Mr. Randall in
Millbrook, who bore no resemblance whatever to her hus-
band. Thus, she spoke the literal truth, while she at the
same time deceived her hostess for the latter’s own good.
Afiliction had laid its blighting hand there heavily enough
already. Her main object now was to get away from the
house before the return of the man who had so villain-
ously wrecked two innocent lives. But a warm sympathy
for the betrayed and friendless woman had sprung up in
her heart, and she longed to leave behind some practical
token of her sympathy. While she was indulging in
these reflections the infant on the bed awoke and set up
a startled little ery. Its mother advanced to where it lay,
took it up in her arms, sat down on the edge of the bed,
and stilled its forlorn little wails by the means known to
mothers from time immemorial. When it became quiet
she again deposited it on the bed and resumed her seat
by the table.

Mrs. Savareen continued standing.

“Tam sorry to have disturbed you unnecessarily,” she
remarked and will now take my leave. Is there anything
I can do for you? I should be glad if I could be of any
use. I am afraid you are not very comfortably off, and
you are far from well in health. It is not kind of Mr.
Randall to leave you alone like this, You need rest and
medical advice.”

176 Savareen’s Disappearance.

These were probably the first sympathetic words Mrs,
Randall had heard from one of her own sex for many :
long day. ‘The tears started to her tired eyes, as she re-
plied :

“T guess there ain't no rest for me this side o the
grave. I haven't any money to git medical advice, and I
don’t suppose a doctor could do me any good. I’m pretty
well run down and so is baby. Tm told it can’t live long,
and if it was only laid to rest J wouldn't care how soon
my time came. You're right about our being awful hard
up. But don’t you be too hard on my husband. He has
his own troubles as well as me. He hain’t had no eash
lately, and don’t seem to be able to git none.”

“ But he could surely stay at home and keep you com-
pany at nights, when you are so ill. It must be very
lonely for you.”

“ Well, you see, | ain't much company for him, He's .

ben brought up different to what I hev, an’s ben used to "
hevin’ things comfortable. I ain’t strong enough to do
much of anything myself, with a sick baby. I’m sure I
don’t know what’s to be the end of it all. Es a gineral I
thing he don’t mean to be unkind, but—— hi
Here the long-suffering woman utterly broke down, and .
was convulsed by a succession of sobs, which seemed to I
exhaust the small stock of vitality left to her. The visitor .
approached the chair where she sat, knelt by her side, %
and took the poor wasted form in her arms, h
They mingled their tears together. For some time ,
neither of them was able to speak a word, but the sym- t
pathy of the stronger of the two acted like a cordial upon
{

her weaker sister, who gradually became calm and com-

Mrs,
ny a
e re-

the
nd I
‘etty
one,
soon
hard

has
cash

-OmM-
very

He’s
d to
do
re I
ral

and
1 to
itor
ide,

me
ym-
yon
m-

Savareen’s Disappearance. 177

posed. The sobs died away, and the shattered frame
ceased totremble. ‘Then they bevan to talk, Mrs. Sava-
reen's share in the conversation was chiefly confined to a
series of sympathetic questions, whereby she extracted
such particulars as furnished a key to the present. situa-
tion. It appeared that the sot-disunt Jaek Randall had
made the acquaintance of his second victim within a short
time after his departure from Canada. He had then been
engaged in business on his own account as a dealer in
horses in Lexington, Kentucky, where the father of the
woman whose life he had afterwards blighted kept a
tavern. He had made soft speeches to her, and had won
her heart, although, even then, she had not been blind to
his main defeet—a fondness for old Bourbon. After a
somewhat protracted courtship she had married him,
but the sun of prosperity had never shone upon them
after their marriage, for his drinking habit had grown
upon him, and he had soon got to the end of what little
money he had. He had been compelled to give up busi-
ness, and to take service with anyone who would employ
him. Then matters had gone from bad to worse. He
had been compelled to move about from one town to an-
other, for his habits would not admit of his continuing
long in any situation. She had accompanied him wher-
ever he went with true wifely devotion, but had been
constrained to drink deeply of the cup of privation, and
had never been free from anxiety. About six months ago
they had come to New York, where he had at first found
fairly remunerative employment in [Hitchcock’s sale stable.

But there, as elsewhere, he had wrecked his prospects by
drink and neglect of business, and for some time past the
K

So

=o ay

i
'
ia
Hii!
i
il)

175 Savareen's Disappe UIKANCE.

unhappy pair had been entirely destitute. The baby
had been born soon after they had taken up their quar-
ters in New York. The mother’s health, which had been
far from strong before this event, completely broke down,
and she had never fully recovered, The seeds of con-
sumption, which had probably been implanted in her
before her birth, had rapidly developed themselves under
the unpromising regimen to which she had been subjected,
and it was apparent that she had not long to live. Sha
was unable to afford proper nourishment to her child,
which languished from day to day, and the only strong
desire left to her was that she might survive long enough
to see it fairly out of the world.

Such was the sad tale poured into the sympathetic ears
of Mrs. Savareen, as she knelt there with the poor crea-
ture’s head against her boson. She, for the time, lost sight
of her own share in the misery brought about by the man
who, in the eye of the law, was still her husband. She
spoke such words of comfort and consolation as sug-
gested themselves to her, but the case was a hopeless one,
and it was evident that no permanent consolation could
ever again find a lodgment in the breast of the woman
who supposed herself to be Mrs, Randall. The best that
was left to her in this world was to hear the sad rites
pronounced over her babe, and then to drop gently away
into that long, last sleep, wherein, it was to be hoped, she
would find that calm repose which a cruel fate had denied
her so long as she remained on earth.

Mrs. Savareen, it will be remembered, was a_ pious
woman. In such a situation as that in which she found
herself, we may feel sure that she did not omit all refer-

baby

quar-
1 been
down,
f con-
in her
under
jected,

Sha
child,
strong

nough

bic ears
y erea-
ae sight
1e man
She

s sug-
ss one,
could
roman
st that
rites
away
d, she
lenied

pious
found
refer-

Savareen’s Disappi AUK ANCE, 179

ence to the consolations of religion. She poured into the
ear of this sore-tried soul a few of those words at which
thinkers of the modern school are wont to sneer, but
Which for eighteen centuries have brought balm to the
sutfering and the afHicted of every clime. Moreover, she
did not neglect to administer consolation of a material
kind. She emptied her purse into the invalid’s lap, It
contained something like thirty dollars—more money,
probably, than Mrs. Randall had ever called her own he-
fore. “Keep this for your own use,” she said—“ it will
buy many little comforts for you and baby. No, | will
not take any of it back. I am comfortably off and shall
not want it.’ Then, with a final embrace, and a few
hurried words of farewell, she stepped to the bedside and
imprinted a kiss on the little waif lying there, all un-
conscious of the world of sin and sorrow in which it held
so precarious a dwelling place. Her mission was at an
end. She silently passed from the room, closing the door
behind her.

CHAPTER XII.

STILL A MYSTERY.

YT the head of the stairway she paused fora
moment to collect herself before passing
down and out into the street. What she

(a ©) had left behind her was of a nature well
t fitted to excite emotion, and her bosom rose
cA and fell with a gentle tenderness and pity. But
she had learned self control in the school of ex-
perience, and her delay was a brief one. Mastering her

ait)
ie
‘i
H ‘4 ISO Savareci’s Disappearance.
ha
\. hi emotions, she walked steadily down the two flights of
stairs, opened the front door for herself, and was just
about to cross the threshold when a man entered. The |
light of the street lamp fell full upon his face. It was
the face of the man whose mysterious disappearance five
years before had created such a profound sensation
throughout Western Canada, There was no possibility
of mistaking it, though it was greatly changed for the
worse. Five years had wrought terrible havoc upon it. |
The sear on the left cheek was more conspicuous than of
yore, and the features seemed to have settled into a per-
Hie petual frown. But, worst of all, the countenance was
eit bloated and besotted. The nose had become bulbous and
Me b spongy, the eyes watery and weak. The man’s clothes
Bi were patched and seedy, and presented a general aspect 3
i) vil of being desperately out at elbu.s, His unsteady step
if indicated that he was at least half drunk at that mom-
i | ent. He did not see, or at any rate did not take any
i notice of the woman who gazed into his face so intently.
s As he staggered on his way upstairs he stumbled and
te narrowly escaped falling. Could it be possible that this (
i | disreputable object was the man whom she had once
; es loved as her husband? She shuddered as she passed out
on to the pavement. Truly, his sin had found him out. ]
i: She had no difficulty in finding her way back to the
ma? | hotel, without asking questions of anybody. Upon {
reaching it she conferred for a moment with the ottice ;
| fe clerk, and then passed up to a small general sitting-room
: where she found her father. The old gentleman was be-
ait: ginning to be anxious at her lone absence. (
| | {

whts of

as just

The
[It was
ce five
sation
sibility
or the
pon it,
han of
a per-
‘ec Was
us and
‘lothes
aspect
y step

nom-
e any
tently.
d and
it this

once
ed out
n out.
o the
Upon
ottice
-room
ns be-

Savareen’s Disappearance. Ist

Well, father, TP find there is an express for Suspen lon
Bridge at midnight. [think we had better take it. It
is now half-past ten. I have learned all 1 wanted to
know, and there is no use for us to stay here on expense.
But perhaps you are tired, and would like a night’s rest.”

“Found out all you wantea to know? Do you mean
to say vou have seen him ?”

“Ves and | hever Wish to see or hear of him again in
this world. Don’t question me now. T will tell you all
before we vet home, and after that I hope you will never
mention his name in my presenee. When shall we
start 2?”

Finding her really anxious to be gone, the old man
assented to her proposition, and they started on their
way homeward by the midnight train. They reached
Millbrook in due course, the father having meanwhile
been informed of all that his daughter had to tell him.
Savareen’s disappearance remained as profound a mystery
to them as ever, but it had at any rate been made clear
that he had absconded of his own free will, and that in
doing so he must have exereised a wood deal of shrewd-
ness and cunning.

The question as to how far it was advisable to take the
public into their confidence exercised the judgment of
both father and daughter. The conclusion arrived at vas
that as little as possible should be said about the me‘-ver.
Their errand to New York was already known, and could
not be wholly ignored. The fact of Savareen’s existence
would have to be admitted. It would inevitably be
chronicled by the Sentinel, and the record would be
transferred to the columns of cther newspapers. The

eee

Se

\
:
|

i

iS2 Savare en's Disappearance.

suhject would be liscussed amony the local quidnunes,
and the excitement of tive years since would to some ex-
tent be revived, All this must naturally be expected,
and would have to be endured as best it might; but it
was resolved that people should not be encouraged to
ask questions, and that they should be made to under-
stand that the topic was not an agreeable one to the
persons immediately concerned. [t might reasonably be
hoped that gossip would sooner or later wear itself out.
For the present it would be desirable for Mrs, Savareen
to keep within doors, and to hold as little communication
with her neighbors as possible.

This programme was strictly adhered to, and every-
thiug turned out precisely as had been expected. Mr.
Haskins reachcd Millbrook on his way home to Tennessee
within a day or two after the return of father and
daughter from New York. He was informed by the
father that Randall and Savareen were identical, but
that the family wished to suppress all talk about the
atfair as far as possible. He took the hint, and departed
on his way homeward, without seeking to probe further
into matters in which he had no personal concern.

[t was hardly to be supposed, however, that the local
population would show equal forbearance. Curiosity
was widespread, and was not to be suppressed from a
mere sentiment of delicacy. No sooner, did it become
known that the father and daughter had returned than
the former was importuned by numerous friends and
acquaintances to disclose the result of his journey. He
so far responded to these importunities as to admit that
the missing man was living in the States under an

idnunes,
ome ex-
xpected,

but it
‘aged to

under-

to the
ably be
elf out,
avareen
lication

every-
1 Mr.

hnnessee

ler and
v the
al, but
ut the
sparted
‘urther

> local
riosity
from a
ecome
l than
s and

He
t that
er an

Savareen's Disappearance. 183

assumed name, but he added that neither lis daughter
nor himself was inclined to tall about the matter. He
said in effect: “ My daughter's burden is a heavy one to
bear, and any one who has any consideration for either
her or me will never mention the matter in the presence
of either of us. Anyone who does so will thereby forfeit
all right to be regarded as a friend or well-wisher.” This
did not silence gossiping tongues, but it at least prevent-
ed them from propounding their questions directly to
himself. He was promptly interviewed by the editor of
the Sentinel, who received exactly the same information
as other people, and no more. The next number of the
paper contained a leading article on the subject, in which
the silence of Mrs, Savareen and her father was animad-
verted upon, ‘The public, it was said, were entitled to be
told all that there was to tell. Savareen’s disappearance
had long since become public property, and the family
were not justified in withholding any information which
might tend to throw light on that dark subject. This
article was freely copied by other papers, and for several
weeks the topic was kept conspicuously before the little
world of western Canada. Nowhere was the interest in
the subject more keenly manifested than at the Royal
Oak, where it furnished the theme of frequent and all-
but-interminable discussion, Not aday passed but mine
host Lapierre publicly congratulated himself upon his
acumen in having all along believed and declared that
Savareen was still in the land of the living. The land-
lord shared the prevalent opinion that the family should
be more communicative. “ (haf always,’ said he, “peen
a coot frient to Mrs, Safarcen. IT respeet her fery mooch,

|
j
|

184 Savareen’s Disappearance.

put I think she might let us know sometinys more apout
her discoferies in New York.’ Scores of other persons
harped to the same monotonous tune. But father and
daughter submitted to this as to a necessary penalty of
their situation, and by degrees the excitement quieted
down. I am not prepared to say whether the step-
mother received further enlightenment than other people,
but if she did she kept her tongue between her teeth like
wv sensible woman. As for Mrs. Savareen herself, she
consistently refrained from speaking on the subject to
anyone, and even the most inveterate gossips showed
suthicient respect for her feelings to ask her no questions.
She held the even tenor of her Way, doing her work anid
maintaining herself as usual, but she lived a secluded
1

life, and was seldom seen outside her own house.
Thus, several months passed away without the oecur-
rence of any event worthy of being recorded, ‘The mys-
tery of Savareen’s disappearance remained a mystery
still, But the time was approaching when all that had
so long been dark was to be made clear, and when the
strange problem of tive years before was to be solved.

ape rut
Crsons

r and

lty of

uleted
step-
eople,
1 like

she
‘ct to
owed
tlons,
© and

uded

Savareen’s Disappearance.

CHAPTER NII.

COALS OF FIRE.

%. 4

tre

Se
Fi ras HE cloomy month of November, 1859, was

\

drawing to its close. The weather, as usual

at that time of the year, was dull and sober,

and the skies were dark and lowering. More

than three months had elapsed since the
journey to New York, and Mrs. Savareen and her
affairs had ceased to be the engrossing topies of
discussion among the people of Millbrook and its neigh-
borhood., She continued to live a very secluded life,
and seldom stirred beyond the threshold of her own
door. Almost her only visitors were her father and bro-
ther, for her stepmother rarely intruded upon her domain,
and indeed was not much eneouraged to do so, as her
presence never brought comfort with it. The little boy
continued to grow apace, and it seemed to the fond mo-
ther that he became dearer to her every day. He was
the sole light and joy of her life, and in him were bound
up all her hopes for the future. Of late she had ceased
to scan his features in the hope of tracing there some re-
semblance of his absent father. Since her visit to Amity
street, (hat fond illusion had wholly departed, never to
return, She had ceased even to speak to him about his
other parent, and had begun to regard herself in the light
of an actual widow. Such was the state of aftairs

[86 Savareen's Disappearance.

when the humdrum of her existence was broken in upori
by a succession of circumstances which it now becomes
necessary to unfold.

It was rapidly drawing towards six o’clock in the even-
ing, and the darkness of night had already fallen upon
the outer landscape. Mrs, Savareen sat in her little par-
lor with her boy upon her knee, as it was her custom to
sit at this hour, The lamp had not been lighted, but the
fireplace sent forth a ruddy blaze, making the countless
shadows refleet themselves on the floor, and in the remote
corners of the room. To both the mother and the child,
this hour, “ between the dark and the daylight” was in-
comparably the most delightful of the twenty-four, for it
was consecrated to story-telling. Then it was that the
boy was first introduced to those old-time legends which
in one form or another have thrilled the bosoms of happy
childhood for so many hundreds of years, and which will
continue to thrill them through centuries yet unborn.
Then it was that he made the acquaintance of Little Red
Riding Hood, Jack the Giant Killer, and the Seven
Champions of Christendom. The mingled lights and shades
from the blazing lovs of hickory in the fireplace lent ad-
ditional charm to the thousand and one stories which the
mother recounted for the child’s edification, and I doubt
not that Jack’s wonderful bean-stalk is still associated in
Master Regeie’s mind with that cosy little room with its
blended atmosphere of cheerful twilight and sombre shia-
dow,

A few minutes more and it would be tea time. It
would never do, however, to break off the story of the
Babes in the Wood just at the time when the two emis-

tpon

yWneSs

ven-
Ton
par-
11 to
the
tless
note
hild,

3 in-

Savarcen’s Disappearance. 187

sanies of the wieked unele began to quarrel tithe depths
of the forest. The child’s sympathies had been thoroughly
aroused, and he would not tamely submit to be left in
suspense, No, the gruesome old tale must be told out, or
at least as far as where the robin redbreasts, after mourn
ing over the fate of the hapless infants “did cover them
with leaves.” And so the mother went on with the nar-
rative, She had just reached the culminating point when
an approaching footstep was heard outside. Then came
a knock at the door, followed hy the entrance of Mrs.
Savareen’s father. It was casy to see from his face that
this was no mere perfunctory call. Evidently he had
news to tell.

“Something has happened, father,” said Mrs, Savareen,
as calmly as she could.

“ Well, yes, something has happened, It is nothing
very dreadful, but you had better prepare yourself to hear
unpleasant news.”

“Tt is that man—he has come,”

“Yes, he has come to town,”

“Ts he at the door 7”

“No, he is at my house. IT thought | had better come
over and tell you, instead of letting him come himself and
take you by suprise.”

“What has he come for, and what does he want ?”
inquired Mrs. Savareen, in a harder tone of voice than
she was accustomed to use.

“Well, for one thing he wants to see you, and [ sup-

pose you can t very well avoid seeing him LH is your

husband, you know. He knows nothing about the jou
ney to New York. He has no means, and looks shabby

188 Savareen's Disappearance.

and sickly. PE shouldia’t wonder tf he isn’t lone tor this
world.’

“So you didn’t tell him anything about the New York
trip ?”

“No, [ didn’t exactly know what your views might be,
and he looked such a worn-out, pitiful object that I held
my tongue about it. 1 think you had better see him and
hear what he has to say.”

[t appeared that Savareen had arrived at Millbrook by
the 4:15 pan. train from New York, and that he had
slunk round by the least frequented streets to his father-
in-law’s house without being recognised by any one. It
might be doubted, indeed, whether any of his old friends
would have recognised him, even if they had met him
face to face in broad daylight, for he was by no means
the ruddy, robust, self-complacent looking personage they
had been accustomed to see in the old day Ss when he Was
wont to ride into town on his black mare. [lis clothes
were seamy and worn, and his physical proportious had
shrunk so much that the shabby garments seemed a
world too wide for him. His face, which three months
ago had been bloated and sodden, had become pale and
emaciated, and the sear upon his left cheek seemed to
have developed until it was the most noticeable thing
about him. His step was fecble and tremulous, and it
was evident that his health had completely broken down,
He was in fact in a state bordering on collapse, and was
hardly fit to be gomg about. His financial condition was
on a par with his bodily state. He had expended Is
last dime in the purchase of his railway ticket, and at

the moment of reaching his father-in-law’s door he had

' thus
Vork

ht be,
held

bani

kk by
had
sher-
It
ends
him
eans
they
was
thes

had

iths
and
l to
ing
| it
wh,
WES
vas
his
at
iad

Savareen's Disappearance. 189

been well-nigh famished for want of food. When a loaf
of bread and some slices of cold meat had been set before
him, he had fallen to with the voracity of a jungle tiger,
He had vouchsated no explanation of his presence, except
that he felt he was goine to die, and that he wanted to
see his wife and child. As he was tired out and_ sorely
in need of rest, he had been put to bed, and his father-
in-law, after seeing him snugly stowed away between the
sheets, had set out to bear the news to his wife.

There could be no doubt as to what was the proper
thing to be done. Mrs. Savareen made the fire safe, put
on her bonnet and shawl and loeked up the house. Then,
taking her little boy by the hand, she accompanied her
father to the old house where, six or seven years before,

the handsome young farmer had been in the habit of

visiting and paying court to her, On arriving she found
the invalid buried in the deep, profound sleep of exhaus-
tion, Consignine her boy to the care of her stepmother,
she took her place by the bedside and waited. Her vigil
was a protracted one, for the tired-out sleeper did not
awaken until the small hours of the next morning, Then
with a long drawn respiration, he opened his eyes, and
fixed them upon the watcher with a weak, wandering
expression, as though he was unable to fully grasp the
situation,

The truth found its way tohim by degrees. He shifted
himself uneasily, as though he would have been glad to
smother himself beneath the bedelothes, was it not for
lack of vesolution, A whipped hound never presented a
more abject appearance,

His wife was the first to speak. “ Do you feel rested ¢

she asked in a gentle tone

Cetptnatl a tiet esa Tee

L
t

a te

IGO Savareen's Disappearance.

“Rested? O, yes, remember now. We are at your
father’s.”

“Yes; but don’t talk any inore just now, if it tires you.
Try to go to sleep again.”

“You are good to me ; better than I deserve,” he re-

sponded, after a pause. Then, great tears welled up to

his eyes, and coursed one after another down his thin,
worn face. It was easy to see that he was weak as
water. His long journey by rail without food had been
too much for him, and in his state of health it was just
possible he might never rally.

The womanly nature of the outraged wife came upper-
most, as it always does under such circumstances. Her
love for the miserable creature lying there before her had
been killed and crucified lone ago, never to be revived.
But she could not forget that she had onee loved him,
and that he was the father of her child. No matter how
deeply he had wronged her, he was ill and suffering
perhaps dying. His punishment had come upon him
without any act of hers. She contrasted his present bear-
ing with that of other days. He was bent, broken,
erushed. Nothing there to remind her of the stalwart,
manly young fellow whose voice had once stirred her
pulse to admiration and love. All the more reason why
she should be good to him now, all undeserving as he
might be. Our British Homer showed a true appreciation
of the best side of feminine nature when he wrote—

© woman, in our hour of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please ;

When pain and anguish wring thy brow,
A ministering angel thou !”

Savareen's Disappre UV ANCE. IQ]

She rose and approached the bed, while her gaze rested
mildly upon his face. Drawing forth her handkerchief,
she wiped the salt tears from his cheeks with a caressing
hand. ‘To him lying there in his helplessness, she seemed
no unfit earthly representative of that Divine Beneti-
cence “ whose blessed task,” says Thackeray, “ it will one
day be to wipe the tear from every eye.” Her gentleness
caused the springs to well forth afresh, and the prostrate
iorm was convulsed by sobs. She sat by his side on the
bed, and staunched the miniature flood with a tender
touch, By-and-by calm returned, and he sank into a
profound and apparently dreamless sleep.

When he again awoke it was broad daylight. The first
object on which his eyes rested was the patient watcher
who had never left her post the whole night long, and
who still sat in anarmehair at his bedside, ready to min-
ister to his comfort. As soon as she perceived that he
was awake she approached and took his wasted hand in
her own. He gazed steadily in her face, but could find
no words to speak.

“You are rested now, are you not?” she murmured,
scarcely above her breath.

After a while he found his voice and asked how long
he had slept. Being enlightened on the point, he ex-
pressed his belief that it was time for him to rise.

‘Not yet,’ was the response; you shall have your
breakfast first, and then it will be time enough to think
about getting up. I forbid you to talk until you have
had something to eat,” she added, playfully. “ Lie still

for a few minutes, while I go and see about a cup of tea.”
And so saying she left him to himself.

Sead pete ee Se eel EY - Aira Manns ie

= ae

IQ2

———————— —

Savarcen’s Disappearance.

Presently she returned, bearing a tray and eatables,

She quictly raised him to a sitting posture, and placed a

large soft pillow at his back. He submitted to her min-

istrations like a child. It was long since he had been

tended with sueh eare, and the position doubtless seemed

a little stranye to him. After drinking a cup of tea and

eating several morsels of the good things set before him

he evidently felt refreshed, His eyes lost somewhat of

their lack-lustre air of confirmed invalidism, and his voice

regained a measure of its natural tone. When he at-

tempted to rise and dress himself, however, he betrayed

such a degree of bodily feebleness that his wife forbade

him to make further exertions. He yielded to her impor-

tunities, and remained in bed, which was manifestly the

best place for him, He was pestered by no unnecessary

questions to account for his presence, Mrs. Savareen

rightly considering that it was for him to volunteer any

explanations he might have to make whenever he felt

equal to the task.

After a while his little boy was brought in to see the

father of whom he dimly remembered to have heard.

His presence moved the sick man to further exhibitions

of tearful sensibility, but seemed, on the whole, to havea

salutary effect. Long absence and a vagabond life had
not quenched the paternal instinct, and the little fellow

was caressed with a fervor too venuine to admit of the pos-

sibility of its being assumed. Master Reggie received

these ebullitions of affection wichout much corresponding

demonstrativeness. He eould not be expected to feel

any vehement adoration for one whom he had never seen

since his earliest babyhood, and whose very name for

Savarveen's Disappearance ; IQ 3

les.
ed a
min-
been
med
-and
him
it of
voice
e at-
ayed
bade
ipor-
the
sary
reen
any
felt

the
vara.
ions
vea

had

some months past had been permitted to sink out of sight,
His artles prattle, however, was vrateful im the cars of
his father, who looked and listened as if entraneed by
sweet strains of music, His wasted—worse than wasted
—past seemed to rise before him, as the child’s aecents
fell softly upon his ear, and he seemed to realize more
than ever how much he had thrown away.

In the course of the forenoon Mrs, Savareen’s step-
mother took her place in the sick chamber, and she her-
self withdrew to another room to take the rest of which
she was by this time sorely in need, The invalid would
not assent to the proposal to call ina physician, He de-
clared that he was only dead tired, and that rest and
quiet would soon restore him without medicine, in so far
as any restoration was possible. And so the day passed
by.

In the evening the wife again took her place at the bed-
side, and she had not been there long ere her husband
vountarily began his chapter of explanations, His story
Was a strange one, but there was no room to doubt the
truth of any portion of it.

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194 Savarcen’s Disappearance.

CHAPTER XIV.
THE BAD HALF CROWN,
K began by comparing himself to the bad half-
erown, which always finds its way back, but

which has no right to expect a warm weleome
on its return, ‘“ Were it not,” said he, “that

I feel myself to be pretty near the end of my
earth’s journey. 4 could not have the face to tell
you my story atall. But I feel that I am worn
out, and don't think it likely that I shall ever leave
this room except for the grave. You shal lknow every-
thing, even more fully than I have ever known it myself
until within the last few hours. They say that when a man
is nearing’ his end he sees more clearly than at any other
time of his life. For my part I now see for the first time
that I have never been anything but a worthless lout from
my cradle. I have never been fit to walk alone, and if
health and strength were to come back to me I should not
be one whit better than I have hitherto been, I don’t
know whether Ll ever told you that I have a streak ot
gipsy blood inmy veins. My grandmother’ was a Romany,
picked up by my grandfather on Wandsworth Common.
I don’t ofter this fact as any excuse for my conduct, but |
have sometimes thought that it may have something to
do with the pronounced vagabondism which has always
been one of my most distinctive features, So long as I

half-
5, but
leome
“that
i Wy
0 tell
worn
leave
very-
yself
,man
other
time
from
nnd if
d not
don’t
lk of
any,
mon.
but |
ly tO
Ways

as [

Savareen’s Disappearance. 195

was at home inimy fether’s house he kept me front doing
anythin very outrageous, but 1 was atways a creature of
impulse, ready to enter into any hair-brained scheme
without counting the cost. I never looked a week ahead
in my life. It was sufficient for me if the present was
endurable, and if the

oe

general outlook for the future pro-
mised something new. My coming to this country in
the first place was a mere impulse, inspired by a senseless
liking for adventure and a wish to see strange faces and
scenes. My taking Squire Harrington’s farm was an im-
pulse, very largely due to its proximity to Lapierre’s, who
is a jolly landlord and knows how to make his guests
comfortable. I had no special aptitude for farm life; no
special desire to get on in the world; no special desire to
do anything except pass the time as pleasantly as I could,
without thought or care tor the future. And as I have
fully made up my mind to make a clean breast of it, [am
going to tell you something which will make you despise
me more than you ever despised me yet. When I married
you I did so from impulse. Don’t mistake me. I liked
you better than any other woman I had ever seen. I
liked your pretty face, and your gentle, girlish ways, I
knew that you were good, and would make an excellent
wife, But I well knew that I had no such feeling to-
wards you as a man should have towards the woman
whom he intends to make the companion of his life—no
such feeling, for instance, as I have for you at this moment.
Well, I married you and we lived together as happily as
most young couples do. I knew that I had a good wife,
and you didn’t know, or even suspect, what a brainless,
heartless clod you had for your husband. Our married

ee

Se

i
BA fe
1a
af
y
i}

196 Savarcen's Disappearance,

life vlided by without anything particular happening to
disturb it. But the thing became monotonous tu me, and
I had the senseless vagabond’s desire for change. We did
fairly well on the farm, but once or twice [ was on the
point of proposing to you that we should emigrate to the
Western States. I began to drink more than was good
for me, and two or three times when I came home half-
sees over you reproached me, and looked at me in a way
[ didn’t like. This I inwardly resented, like the besotted
fool lL was. It seemed to me that you might have held
your tongue. The feeling wasn’t a very strong one with
me, andif it hadn’t been for that cursed four hundred
pounds, things might have gone on for some time longer.
Of course I kept all this to myself, for I was at least sen-
sible enough to feel ashamed of my want of purpose, and
knew that I deserved to be horsewhipped for not caring
more for you and baby.

“The legacy from my father, if properly used, would
have placed us on our feet. With a farm of my own, I
might reasonably hope to become a man of more import-
ance in our community than I had been. For a time
this was the only side of the picture that presented itself
tomy mind. I began to contemplate myself as a landed
proprietor, and the contemplation was pleasant enough.
I bought the farm from Squire Harrington in good faith,
and with no other intention than to carry out the trans-
action, When I left home on the morning of that 17th
of July, [had no more intention of absconding than I
now have of running for Parliament. The idea never so
much as entered my mind. The morning was wet, and
it seemed likely that we should have a rainy day, I

ihe to
C, wand
"e did

good

half-

way
sotted
P held
with
1dred
never,
| sen-
, and
ariNg

‘ould
vn, I
ort-
time
tself
ded
igh,
ith,
ins-
7th
ni
" SO
incl

L

Savarcen’s Disappearance. 197

was in a more loaferish mood than usual, and thought I
might as well ride to town to pass the time. The hired
man, whose name I have forvotten, was not within eall
at the momerit, so I went out to the stable to saddle
Black Bess for myself. Then I found that the inner
front padding of the saddle had been torn by rats during
the night, and that the metal plate was exposed. To use
it in that state would have ealled the mare’s back, and it
was necessary to place something beneath it. I looked
about me in the stable, but saw nothine suitable, so I
returned into the house to get some kind of an old cloth
for the purpose. If you had been there T should have
asked for what IT wanted, but you were not to be seen,
and when I called out your name you did not answer,
Then, in a fit of momentary stupid petulance, I went
into the front bedroom, opened my trunk, and took out
the first thing that came uppermost. I should have
taken and used it for what [ wanted just then, even if it
had been a silk dress or petticoat ; but it happened to be
a coat of my own. I took it ont to the stable, placed it
under the saddle, and rode otf} Before reachine the
front vate [ saw how it was that you had not answered
my eall, for, as you doubtless remember, you were out in
the orchard with baby in your arms, at some distance
from the house, IT nodded to you as [rode past, little
thinking that years would elapse before I should see you
again,

“T suppose you know all about how [spent the day.
[ had a bit of a quarrel with the clerk at the bank, and
that put me out of humor. Thad not intended to draw
the money, but to leave it on deposit. till next morning

;
:
:
|
'
;

198 Savas ee i's Desappe AHF aANCEe,

Shuttleworth’s ill-tempered remarks nettled me. I took
the notes in a huff, and left the bank with them in my
pocket. [ought to have had sense enouch to ride home
at once, but [ went to the Peacock and muddled myself
with drink. I felt elated at having such a large sum of
money about me, and carried on like a fool and a sot all
afternoon. I didn’t start for home till a few minutes
before dark. Up to that moment the idea of clearing
out had never presented itself to my mind. But as I
cantered along the quiet road I began to think what a
good time I could have with four hundred pounds in my
pocket, in some far-off place where I was not known, and
where [ should be free from incumbrances of every kind.

“In the half-befuddled condition in which I then was,
the idea quickly took possession of my stupid imagina-
tion. I rode along, however, without coming to any
fixed determination, till I reached Jonathan Perry’s toll-
gate. [exchanged a few words with him, and then re-
sumed my journey. Suddenly it flashed upon me that,
if I was really going to make a strike for it, nothing was
to be gained by delaying my flight. What was the use
of going home ? If I ever got there I should probably
be unable to summon up sufficient resolution to vo at all.
Just then I heard the sound of a horse’s feet advancing
rapidly down the road. An impulse seized me to get out
of the way. But to do this was not easy. There was a
shallow ditch along each side of the road, and the fence
was too high for a leap. Before I could let down the
rails and betake myself to the fields the horseman would
be on the spot. As T east rapid glanees this way and
that, | came in front of the gateway of the lane leading

I took
in my

home
nyself
um of
sot all
inutes
earine
t as I
‘hata
in my
1, and
kind,
1 Was,
oina-
) any
Ss toll-
en re-
that,
» was
eC use
bably
it all,
icing

t out
vas a
‘ence

1 the
ould
and

ling

Savareen's Disappearance. 199

down by the side of Stolliver’s house to his barnyard.
As it happened, the vate was open. On came the horse
clattering down the road, and not a second was to be
lost if I wished to remain unseen. I rode in, dismount-
ed, shut to the vate, and led my mare a few yards down
the lane to an overhanging black cherry tree, beneath
which I ensconced myself. Scareely had I taken up my
position there when the horse and his rider passed at a
swift trot down the road. It was too dark for me to tell
at that distance who the rider was, but,as you shall hear,
[ soon found out. I stood still and silent, with my hand
on Bess’s mane, cogitating what to do next. While I did
so, Stolliver’s front door opened, and he and his boys
walked out to the front fenee, where the old man lighted
his pipe. Then [ heard the horse and_ his rider coming
back up the road from the tollgate. In another moment
the rider drew up and began to talk to Stolliver. I lis-
tened with breathless attention, and heard every word of
the conversation, which related to myself. I feared that
Bess would neigh or paw the ground, in which case the
attention of the speakers would have been drawn to my
whereabouts. But, as my cursed fate would have it, the
mare made no demonstration of any kind, and I was
completely hidden from view by the darkness and
also by the foliage of the cherry tree under which I
stood. The horseman, as you probably know, was La-
pierre, who had been despatched by you to bring me
home. ‘This proceeding on your part I regarded, in my
then frame of mind, in the light of an indignity. A
pretty thine, truly, if T was to be treated as though I was
unable to take care of myself, and if my own wife was to

200 Sazvareen’s Disappearance

send people to hunt for me about the neighborhood! I
waited in silence till Lapierre had paid his second visit
to the toll-cate and ridden off homewards. Still I wait-
ed, until old Stolliver and his boys returned into the
heuse. Then I led the mare as softly as I could down
the lane, and around to the back of the barn, where we
were safe from observation.

“T chuekled with insane lee at having eluded Lapierre,
and then I determined on a course of action. Like the
egotistical villain I was, I had no more regard for your
feelings than if you had been a stick or a stone. You
should never suspect that I had wilfully deserted you, and
should be made to believe that [ had been murdered.
Having formed my plans, I led the mare along the edges
of the fields, letting down the fences whenever it was
necessary to do so, and putting them carefully up again
after passing through. I made my way down past the
rear end of John Calder’s lot, and so on to the edge of the
swamp behind Squire Harrinton’s. Bess would take no
harm there during the night and would be found safe
enough on the morrow. IT removed the bit from her
mouth, so that she could nibble the grass, and left the
bridle hangine round her neck, securing it so that she
would not be likely to trip or throw herself. I showed
far more consileration for her than I did for the wife of
my bosom. ft removed the saddle so that ‘she could lie
down and roll, if she felt that way disposed. I took the
coat I had used for a pad, and earried it a short distance
into the swamp and threw it into a puddle of water. I
deliberated whether IT should puncture the end of my
finger with my jack-knife and stain my coat with the

EEE aoe aes
Savarcen’s Disappearance. 201
! J I blood, but coneluded that such a proceeding was unneces-
visit sary. I knew that you would be mystified by the coat
viuit- as you knew quite well that [had not worn it when I
the left home in the morning. Then I bade farewell to poor
own Bess, and, unaccountable as it may seem to vou, I was
> we profoundly touched at parting from her in such a way.
I embraced her neck and kissed her on the forehead. As
Te, [ tore myself away from her I believe IT was within an
the ace of shedding tears. Yet, not a thought of compunce-
rour tion on your account penetrated my selfish soul. TI picked
You my way through the swamp to the fourth concession, and
and then struck out across unfrequented fields for Harborough
red. station, eight miles away.
lees “The moon was up, and the light shone brightly all
Was the way, but I skulked along the borders of out-of-the-
rain wy fields, and did not encounter a human being. As |
the drew near the station I secreted myself on the dark side
the of an old shed, and lay in wait for the first train which
no might stop there. I did not have to remain more than
safe | about half an hour. A mixed train came along from the
her west, and as it drew up I sprang on {the platform of the
the | last car but one. To the best of my knowledge nobody
she saw me get aboard. I was not asked for my ticket until
ved the train approached Hamilton, when I pretended that I
of had lost it, and paid my fare from Dundas, where I pro-
lie fessed to have boarded the train. I got off at Hamilton,
she and waited for the east-bound express, which conveyed
1ce mae to New York.”
I
ny

202 Savarcen’s Disappearance.

CHAPTER XV.

REGINALD BOURCHIER SAVAREEN DISCOVERS THE GREAT
SECRET,

cr

GF HUS far Savareen had been permitted to tell

A

Ga)
by Cte N his own story. Ido not, of course, pretend
WW . Ibs, \\ . ; : A . °
WA 1, that it came from his lips in the precise words
\ ‘ A

iY
N

2

«37 set down in the foregoing chapter, but for

the sake of brevity and clearness, I have

v

ry’ deemed it best to present the most salient portion

of the narrrative in the first person. It was re-
lated to me years afterwards by Mrs. Savareen herself,
and [ think [I am warranted in saying that I have
given the purport of her relation with tolerable ac-
curacy. ‘There is no need to present the sequel in the
same fashion, nor with anything like the same fulness of
detail. The man unburdened himself with all the ap-
pearance of absolute sincerity, and made no attempt to
palliate or tone down anything that told against himself.
He admitted that upon reaching New Yark he had en-
tered upon a career of wild dissipation. He drank, gam-
bled and indulged in debauchery to such an extent that
in less than six weeks he had got pretty nearly to the end
of his four hundred pounds. He assumed a false name

and carefully abstained from ever looking at the news-

GREAT

o tell
‘etend
vords
it. for
have
yrtion
iS re-
arself,
have
e ac-
1 the
SS of
> ap-
pt to
self,
en-

yamM-

that

‘end

ame

2WS-

SJAVaAVCCH AY Disappearance 203

papers, SO that he remaimed in ienoranee ot all that had
taken place in the neighborhood of his home after his
departure, Becoming tired of the life he was leading in
the great eity, he proceeded southward, and spent some
months wandering about through the Southern States.
His knowledge of horse-flesh enabled him to pick up a
livelihood, and even at times to make money; but his
drinking propensities steadily gained the mastery over
him and stood in the way of his permanent success in any
pursuit. During a sojourn at a tavern in Lexington,
Kentucky, he had formed an attachment for the daughter
of his landlord. She was a good girl in her way, and
knew how to take care of herself; but Mr. Jaek Randall
passed for a bachelor, and seemed to be several grades
above the ordinary treqnenters of her father’s place.
Their marriage and subsequent adventures have been
sufficiently detailed by the unhappy woman herself, dur-
ing her conference with Mrs. Savareen at No. 77 Amity
street,

The sor-disané Randall had Gone on from bad to Worse,
until he had become the degraded creature of whom his
wife had caught a momentary climpse under the clare of
vas lamp on her departure from the Amity street lode-
ines. The woman who supposed herself to be his wife
had informed him that a strange lady had called and
been very kind to her, but she had told him nothing
about the lady having come from Canada. Why she was

thus reticent [am unable to say with certainty, Perhaps

it was beeause she attaehed no inporbance to the emeum-

a
Od Sai ree e's Disappeara CU, \
AM K
| ’ ’ , 4
i stance, after the lady's declaration that the daguerreotype i
) did not represent the man whom she wished to find.
a ; ;
Perhaps she had some inkling of the truth, and dreaded
4h . . . ‘ My
| to have her suspicions confirmed, She knew that she ;
had but a short time to live, and may very well have cde-
sired to sleep her last sleep without making any diseovery
detrimental to her peace of mind, Whatever the cause
imay have been, she kept silent to everything but the ;

main fact that a kind lady had ealled and suy olied her
With a small store of money to provide for herself and the
child. Savareen never learned or even suspected, that
the lady who ministered to the wants of lis vietims was
his own wife, until the truth was told to him by the wife

herself. Small difference to him however, where the

money came from. tfe had no seruples about taking a
part of it to buy drink for himself and one or two loafers
he numbered among his personal acquaintanees. But

there was sutticient left to provide for all the earthly

it needs of the dying woman and her child. The little one
| breathed its last within two days of Mus. Savareen’s visit,
il and the mother followed it to the grave a week later.

1 Since then “Jack Randall” had drageved on a solitary
Hi | existence in New York, and had been on the very brink
i of starvation. Every half dime he eould lay hold of, hy
i hook or by brook—and T fear it was sometimes by hoth

} was spent in the old way. Then his health suddenly
it broke down, and for the first time he knew what it was to
1) he weak and ill finally he had been compelled to admit
i to himself that he was utterly beaten in the race of life
ie

type
tind,
uled
she
ile-
ory
LUSe
the
her
the
hat

Was

Savarcen’s Dasappearance. 205

and with a profound depth ofmeanness which transcended
any of his former aets, he hac made up tis mind to return
in his want and despair, to the wife whom he had so
basely deserted. Since leaving West ester he had heard
nothing of her, direet or indireet ; but he doubted not
that she was supplied with the necessaries of life, and
that she would yield him her forgiveness,

It is possible to sympathize with the prodigal son, but
Whose heart is wide enough to tind sympathy for sueh a
prodigal husband as this /

His wife heard him patiently out to the very end,
Then she told him of the arrival of My. Thomas Jefferson
Haskins at the Royal Oak, and the consequent visit to
New York. The recital did not ereatly move him, The
telline of his own story had again reduced him to a state
of extreme exhaustion, and he was for the time Leing in-
capable of further emotion, He soon after dropped asleep,
and as he was tolerably certain not to awake until next
morning, there was no occasion for further attendance
upon him. Mrs, Savareen drew to another apartment to
ponder a while, before retiring to rest, on the strange tale
which she had heard,

Next morning it was apparent that Savareen was
alarmingly ill, and that his ilness did not arise solely
from exhaustion. A doctor was called in, and soon pro-
nounced his verdict. The patient was suffering from
congestion of the lungs. The malady ran a rapid course,
and in another week he lay white and cold in his coftin,

206 Savareen’s Disappearance.

the scar on his cheek, showine like a vreat pale ridge on
a patch of hoar-frost.

My story is told. The young widow donned the con-
ventional weeds—* the trappings and the suits of woe ”—
prescribed by custom under such circumstances. It is
only reasenable to believe that she sineerely mourned the
loss of her girlhood’s ideal, but it was surely too much to
expect that she should be overwhelmed by grief at the
death of one who had been practically dead to her for
years, and whose unworthiness had recently been so un-
mistakably brought home to her. With her subsequent
fortunes the reader has no concern; but it can be no

harm to inform him that she remains a widow still, and

that she at this moment resides with her son—a prosper-

ous lawyer—in one of the chief towns of Western Canada.

Oli

COn-